


I, Creator

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time slows, as if before an event horizon, while Charlie watches Randall’s mad missiles arc toward the only meaningful places to her on Earth: the Monroe Republic and the Georgia Federation. A new adventure ensues, as the gang tries to unravel old mysteries and confront the new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My take on where we could be headed Season 2. Expect the story to conform as much as possible to known canon. Different sections focus on the various characters' experiences as noted. Disclaimer: I'm only here to play. To NBC goeth the spoils.

_Charlie_

Time slows, as if before an event horizon, while Charlie watches Randall’s mad missiles arc toward the only meaningful places to her on Earth: the Monroe Republic and the Georgia Federation. Aaron’s mouth is a frozen donut, like he thinks moving even the tiniest muscle will make this thing that is happening real, and it cannot – _must not_ – be real, must not be consummated. A moment ago (or maybe an hour ago, what does it matter now?) Miles pounded on the impenetrable glass in a parody of frustration. His fist remains smashed against the pane, like he’s a disgruntled child at the zoo. But it is her mother who transfixes Charlie. There is Rachel, staring straight ahead with a set coldness. Charlie can’t even tell if her mother cares that she’s destroyed the world. _Does she feel remorse? Satisfaction? If she can’t have Danny then the whole world must pay?_ Her mother is the greatest of all the mysteries Charlie has encountered since leaving her placid Wisconsin village.

All of a sudden, without ceremony, the thing is done. Such utter destruction reduced to something akin to those video games Charlie only hazily remembers playing as a child. Georgia and its archrival are… _what exactly? What exactly were those missiles?_

The question impels Charlie to action, and she lunges toward the others.

“We have to go home and see if there are any survivors!” Charlie suggests wildly. Her voice sounds unnatural since no one has spoken in what feels like several lifetimes.

Miles shifts his bottomless black eyes to her, as his fist falls to his side. Charlie can see right away that for some reason her proposition is untenable. She knows when things can and cannot be done by consulting Miles’s eyes. Like when Nora died, Miles’s eyes said: _It is finished_. He didn’t try to bring her back with wasted hopes like Charlie did Maggie; he just wept a silent, agonizing goodbye, and they moved on.

It is Rachel who needlessly answers aloud: “They’re nuclear weapons, Charlie. We can’t go near home. Not for a long time. A lot of people are dead; many, many more will be dying in the days and years to come.”

“How…how do they die?” Charlie asks because she genuinely does not understand this thing: nuclear weapons.

Aaron shakes his head and lets his face sink into his hands, apparently shielding himself from Rachel’s words. Miles keeps staring at Charlie, willing her not to hear, it seems.

“Radiation, Charlie. It basically…melts your systems from the inside out,” Rachel tries to explain.

Charlie makes a strangled whimper. “So all the people back home – they’ll just _melt_?”

“Well, no, they might be far enough away to simply die from cancer later on,” Rachel answers.

Charlie makes another animal-like sound. “How did we not stop this? How could we have let this happen!”

Rachel tries to put her hand on Charlie’s arm to calm her.

“No! Do not touch me. You _had_ to turn the power on. You did it at the cost of Nora, and now you’ve done it at the expense of two countries! One of them was my home!”

Rachel’s eyebrow twitches, and she looks away from her daughter to collect herself, inhaling and exhaling like an ancient yogi.

“Charlie,” Miles says in such a gruff voice, it sounds like the grit of their entire, incredible journey has accumulated as gravel in his throat.

Charlie shifts her eyes to him, her uncle – this man she’s grown to love as some strange hybrid of parent and friend, admire almost like an idol, and fear like a tyrant.

Charlie tries to process what Miles means by saying her name, because he is sparse with words and doesn’t like questions. _A warning?_ she posits. _Stop. Lay off your mother._ Charlie wonders briefly if Miles is more loyal to her or to her mother. It’s not a contest, she knows, but somehow she wants to make it one right now to prove some nonsensical point.

Rachel probably doesn’t want to consider this, but Charlie did, in fact, overhear Nora’s revelation about Miles’s feelings before she died. Miles loves Rachel. It is not that Charlie is surprised – she’s sensed something of the sort since they found Rachel alive at the power plant. And Nora, of all people, would know. Would have known. _Nora knows nothing now_ , Charlie thinks bitterly. Maybe Rachel even loves Miles back, though Charlie’s not exactly convinced her mother feels normal human emotions. How Charlie’s father figured into all of this is painfully uncertain.

_Maybe I’ve misread Miles_ , Charlie thinks, studying him more closely. Concern and grief mark the wrinkles in his sun-scorched skin. Perhaps it _is_ Charlie to whom he’s loyal first and foremost. Miles and Charlie have proven oddly irresistible to one another. He’s tried to abandon her before; she’s tried to withhold forgiveness. It never works. She’s magnetically drawn to him, and before she’s even cognizant she’s moving, she’s being received into his expansive, sweat-stained embrace and sobbing. She feels his big body shaking around her, too. Whether he’s crying or just convulsing with the world that is breaking all around them, she can’t tell. But at least his reaction is appropriate.

Contrastingly, her mother’s composure is surreal, unnerving, a word that Charlie doesn’t want to entertain but claws its way to the surface: _Evil_.

 

* * *

 

_Rachel_

Rachel observes as Charlie chooses Miles over her (again); she watches them embrace. She can’t see Charlie’s face since it’s buried against Miles’s chest and the flaps of his coat, but she can see Miles’s hand migrate to Charlie’s blonde mane, holding her head as tenderly as a robin’s egg.

She hates him for it a little, because he doesn’t know that there’s biology behind his affection – connection that goes beyond uncle to niece. Hell, maybe he does suspect. But Rachel never knows with Miles. He oscillates between being one of the stupidest people she’s ever slept with and one of the smartest. Right now he’s Dumb Miles – the one who didn’t stop the missiles from eradicating the entire East Coast. She hates him for not saving her from her own mistake even though it’s not fair.

Miles opens his eyes to look at Rachel over Charlie’s shaking head. His eyes ask, _What now?_

It’s Aaron who answers Miles’s silent question. “Maybe we should just stay down here. If there are nuclear weapons out in the world, this Tower has got to be the safest pl–”

A series of explosions rattle the door. The first few sound muffled but the last sounds effective. It’s got to be Neville.

Miles has somehow managed to push Charlie aside and locate an airshaft. _Smart Miles_ , Rachel thinks, and she is thankful for him again. He’s helping Charlie and then shoving Aaron upwards, and finally puts both hands on Rachel’s ass and pushes. She wonders if that was really necessary, but in a second, his face appears behind her. He replaces the grate, and they start crawling.

After they have covered a considerable distance, Miles whispers, “We’ve got to get back to those water pipes and get out of here. Try to keep going to the right, Charlie.”

Rachel gets a small thrill thinking about her daughter in the lead – a born leader. Rachel tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s in the genes, because the Matheson track record is not exactly stellar on that front. On this topic, Rachel briefly wonders how Miles is coping with the loss of his Republic – the only child he has ever known – now utterly disarticulated. Part of her thinks, _Good riddance_ , and then she remembers all the people who have perished. 

“Try there, up ahead,” Miles instructs Charlie from uncomfortably close behind Rachel.

Charlie immediately removes the relevant grate and soundlessly lowers herself to the cement. Aaron follows her, thumping, and then Rachel feeds out her long legs and drops. Miles is last and lands right next to Rachel, so near that he puts a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. It’s then that she realizes how worn and beaten his face is. She wonders what happened when he was flushed out of the Tower with Bass – wonders if Bass is dead. Bass, who is now indivisibly associated with suicide grenades, with saving Charlie, with every conflicted emotion in the human palate from wrath and loathing to even the ashes of burned-out love, because Rachel once loved him like a little brother.

They quietly maneuver down the long hallway, listening for the rush of water, and are lead by their senses to a side door. But of course, the Militia knew this was where they’d head – the only other exit besides the front door. It’s not Neville, but it’s a sizable guard. Rachel can’t count the adversaries before she flings herself to the side to avoid their gunfire. Miles is low on ammo, since he wasted a good bit as Dumb Miles, shooting at the glass to try to get at Randall, but here is where her old beau is magnificent. Miles peeks his gun around the corner and pops off the guys one by one. When one presumably stops to reload, he dashes out into the fray, uses a body as a human shield, pilfering the gun, and wastes the rest. Charlie is clearly itching to help, but Rachel has kept her daughter’s arm firmly, probably painfully, in check. Rachel is not about to lose Charlie now. Charlie huffs and finally shakes off her mother.

They follow Miles to the angry, swirling river, and he warns: “This isn’t going to be fun. Good luck.”

He jumps in. Rachel is intimidated. Miles is an excellent swimmer. Of course he is – he was a Marine. Charlie seems unreasonably confident and dives in, too – always the dare devil.

Even Aaron says with a little shrug, “This isn’t the first time Miles has asked me to jump into raging rapids.”

He’s gone. Now it’s Rachel’s turn. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Water is churning her like she’s in a massive washing machine. It’s crushing her bones, stinging her eyes. She’s sputtering and trying not to inhale, and then the current expels her into the air. She blacks out and hallucinates that she’s a little girl at the water park with her father in Chicago. She wants to impress him and be brave, so she’s agreed to go on the big slide. She regrets it the moment she is falling through space and then gets pulled under by the vast sea below. Nothing is as powerful and merciless as water.

Cold, wet hands are pushing on Rachel’s chest, compressing her lungs, crushing the memory of her youth.

“Rachel!” Miles’s voice wrenches her.

She coughs up water.

“Jesus. Jesus,” Miles says several times. He puts his hand under her chin, lifting it slightly, and says, “You’re so fucking lucky I remembered how to do that twenty years later. What the hell were you thinking swallowing all that water? Haven’t you ever heard of holding your breath?” With each word he says, he’s spitting water on her.

It dawns on her that Miles has performed some Marine Corps version of CPR on her. Her chest is killing her. Her head lolls to the side and she sees Aaron and Charlie both safe, if shivering, looking panicked and then relieved.

“Thank you,” she croaks at Miles without looking back up at him. She is immensely gratified that she and Charlie have somehow made it out of the Tower together.

“You’re welcome. Now get up!” Miles demands, wrenching her up by the arm and signaling to the others to start running. Shots start spattering the air, and Rachel has trouble following Miles’s zigzag escape route. They come to the top of a cliff, and Miles starts a treacherous butt-slide to the bottom. _This is insane_ , Rachel’s brain objects, but they all follow and finally roll behind a set of bushes, breathing heavily.

Aaron rolls slightly on his back to look at Rachel. “What did Randall mean: I’m a patriot? Do you think…Randall wasn’t like a secret Rebel or something?”

Rachel looks at him sharply. There are many possibilities. That Randall was a Rebel is not one of them.

Miles is staring at the dirt.

“Miles,” Rachel breaks his concentration. “You and Bass,” her voice breaks slightly at Bass’s name, “were on base when the Blackout happened. Did you receive any orders at all?”

Miles shakes his head.

“Didn’t that strike you as strange? Marines are always the first in. Why weren’t you ordered somewhere?”

“Of course we thought it was weird. I also thought it was fucking weird that Ben called me thirty seconds before the Blackout to warn me about it! _You’re_ the ones who knew about the fucking Blackout…about the Tower. Don’t ask me what is going on here.”

So Miles is feeling hostile toward her. It shouldn’t surprise her. It is her fault in some sense that the Monroe Republic was just wiped out. It is also possibly her fault that Nora is dead.

Rachel regroups. “No, Miles. I’m not asking you…I’m just saying. Where was the commander-in-chief? Where were all the top-level military advisers? It makes no sense that they’d just vanish, unless they _intended_ to vanish.”

“You’re saying the president of the United States wanted to destroy his own nation?” Miles barks impatiently.

So: after everything that's happened, after all these years, Miles still can't believe that his commander-in-chief would betray him. Rachel pushes down her irritation at his naivete. This is one of the things she hates about soldiers.

“I don’t know," she says simply. "All I know is you guys have been fighting with the Rebels for the past few months, and well, I’m pretty sure you’re about to get your wish.”

“Our wish?” Charlie asks dumbstruck.

Rachel is suddenly sure of herself, “The United States. I think it’s back.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Miles_

“Hay barn,” Miles says flatly, pointing to three o’clock. “We’ll sack out there.”

_And then what?_ Miles wonders. Now that the world has ended, they have no particular place to be but away from Neville, at least until the next disaster hits. But Miles knows where his ultimate fate lies, and no one can accompany him there. Besides, at the moment, he's not ready to say goodbye to Charlie; not ready to leave Rachel. The absence of Nora in the world has made him feel terribly, inexplicably alone – like he’s lost an appendage rather than a friend. That’s his problem - always has been; he's sentimental (as Bass would say). Stupidly, stubbornly attached to the people he loves. A weakness.

Miles glances at Charlie, who is staring at him slightly wide-eyed, and a tremendous flood of affection chokes him. Well, maybe not entirely a weakness.

The moon is a silver saucer in the desert sky and the cold is starting to set in. They enter the barn, and Miles immediately begins climbing the ladder into the loft.

“I’m sleeping up here. Gotta air out my clothes,” Miles informs over a shoulder. He thinks about telling Aaron that he should do the same but the familiarly impish impulse toward the fancy boy returns: if Aaron hasn’t figured out how to survive in the wild yet, then it’s his funeral.

Someone may have replied to Miles from below, but he doesn’t care. He is already stripping to the nude, laying out his clothes, which smell breathtakingly rancid from sweat, roily water, and blood (some his, some Bass’s, some Nora’s). Miles lays down on the bare wooden planks (they have lost all of the comforts of supplies, like bedrolls or blankets) and immediately wills himself to sleep – an old soldier skill. Breathe in the nose and out the mouth.

_Miles and Bass are flailing in some kind of waterlogged cave, and the water is rising. Miles’s legs are spinning like an eggbeater, and he’s yelling at Bass to head for the light. Bass looks woefully at Miles and slides under the turbulence. No! Miles screams and reaches into the water, feeling not Bass’s curls but long streams of golden hair: Rachel. Rachel reaches up with abnormally long nails to claw at Miles’s face._

“Miles,” Rachel whispers, snapping him awake.

Rachel is the last person Miles wants to see after that nightmare, but here she is, standing before him, stripping down…removing her shirt, her pants. Miles is utterly confused. He stares at her with his jaw slackened, raising himself onto his elbows.

The panties come off, and now she is just in her bra.

“What are you doing?” Miles hisses, trying to be quiet.

“Don’t know what it means when a woman takes off her pants? Miles, I’m surprised at you.”

Miles can think of no response. A month ago he would have killed to be confronted with Rachel’s naked pussy. Now he just feels vulnerable, played even. What could Rachel possibly be up to?

She appears to read his face and explains, “Look. I just want to feel something else besides pain. It's just a fuck. Don’t make it into something else.”

“And what about how I feel?” Miles retorts. He feels a simultaneous pang in his chest and down below his stomach. 

“Honestly Miles, I’ve known you for most of your adult life, and you’ve never wanted to talk about your feelings before. Are you really planning on starting now?”

Unexplained shame creeps into Miles’s skin like a fever. He never comprehends his own emotions around this woman.

She’s climbing onto his hips now, and he can feel that she’s wet. Too quickly, he’s lost his ability to resist this. As usual, he finds he wants her more than he wants to live. He hates this about himself, but it’s always been true. He jumps with electricity when she takes hold of him and then he’s inside her, and it’s so familiar, so exquisite that he completely surrenders. She appears to be fucking him for complete self-release, which happens abruptly.

“You close?” she whispers in his ear.

He can barely form the word yes, before she’s popped him out and jacks him to quick, unceremonious completion on his own stomach. Immediately she gets up, abandoning him in his own puddle.

Miles turns sideways so he doesn’t have to watch her get dressed. Tears pool and burn in his eyes but don’t fall. It’s his self-loathing, his grief for Nora, his bone-stripping ache for the lost Monroe Republic. Why wasn’t it him instead of Nora who died? What cruel joke of fate is this that he keeps surviving? 

Miles can’t go back to sleep but instead spends the rest of the night in painful emotional limbo. Finally, when it must be around four in the morning, he gets up, dresses, and heads down from the loft with the intention of going after food.

He senses that Rachel’s curled in the corner but doesn’t look at her. Instead, he bends down over Charlie, angelic and serene in sleep despite the discomfort of the barn floor, her blonde hair sprayed out like a fan.

“Charlie,” Miles whispers.

He probably shouldn’t wake Charlie – she needs her rest – but he’s so goddamned lonely, and truthfully, after all this time, Charlie is comforting to him. Gone are the days when he considered her an insufferable pain in the ass.

She opens her astonishingly blue eyes (though they just look dark in here) and wordlessly puts on her jacket to follow Miles outside. She doesn’t ask what they are doing, just accepts, and Miles is incredibly grateful to her for her implicit trust.

 

* * *

 

_Charlie_

Sometime in the middle of the night, Charlie hears her mother ascend the ladder into the loft. She can’t help herself – she thinks of what all the teenage boys in her village back home used to say at a time like this: booty call.

Charlie hears every word of Rachel's and Miles's pathetic little exchange despite their attempts at being hushed. She hears the cruelty of her mother and feels pain and humiliation for Miles. She tries to plug her ears and block out the almost silent sounds of their sex. Though she always found it a little awkward to see Nora and Miles exchange affection, she also rooted for them to be together. This? This is another story. She’s almost revolted, certainly ashamed – whether at the tarnished memory of her father or at Miles’s acquiescence to being so mal-treated or at her mother’s sick insistence on using him – she can’t tell which.

Her mother’s back in just a few minutes, and through closed eyes, Charlie senses Rachel standing over her for a moment. Thankfully, Rachel then retreats into the corner.

The next thing Charlie knows is Miles crouching at her side, rousing her in the thick blackness of the barn. She’s put off by his union with her mother, but hell, if she’s honest, she knows what it is to be in love – even stupid, misguided love. She can’t stop wondering what became of Jason, and she knows that whatever happens, she must find out. So she ghosts away by Miles’s side, the two of them bound by melancholy and pathetically wasted hearts.

Charlie stays close at Miles’s elbow, and he doesn’t object. He merely says without turning. “Need food.”

That is their  mission - the simplest mission of all humans: to survive. When everything else is so complicated, this feels right.

They have only Charlie’s crossbow to hunt, since no gun could have survived their fall from the Tower. It takes several hours, but they manage to shoot a hare. Back outside the barn, Miles begins skinning it, removing the organs, while Charlie watches on her haunches. 

“Miles, how long have you loved my mother?” This topic was off limits before, but Charlie senses a new era.

“Too long,” is the terse response, but it is something - an admission. Miles’s lip twitches as he carefully extracts the bladder. 

“ _How_ long?”

 “Since before you were born, Charlie,” Miles says wearily.

Charlie tries to process this information, but then Miles is unexpectedly speaking again.

“My turn. Did Rachel have something to do with Nora…?” but he is incapable of completing the question.

Charlie knows what he means, in any case. She ponders for a long moment whether this is something he should hear and decides in the affirmative. People need closure when they lose someone they love.

“Nora got shot saving us from the Tower people. I wanted Mom to go with me to the infirmary, but she insisted on going to the control room with Aaron instead. Maybe Nora wouldn’t have…”

Miles shakes his head to cut her off. She sees his hands tremble with the knife, and she puts her hands on his.

“I’ll finish this,” she offers. The rabbit’s blood runs over both of their fingers.

Miles backs away and allows it. Charlie takes this as a sign of how far they’ve come together. They can carry each other’s burdens.

Miles turns to face the sky, hands on his hips. This is the last thing Charlie sees before Rachel and Aaron emerge and break the spell: the wind rustling Miles’s too long hair, his eyes closed against the incipient sun. Miles is a part of the earth. Maybe all of his mistakes have simply been scripted, because this is how things had to play out. In any case, he’s paying now, repenting. She loves him for it. 

“Bunny for breakfast. My favorite,” Aaron greets drily.

Charlie shoots him a half smile. Then, Rachel emerges from behind him, and Charlie's smile fades.

“After breakfast we need to go,” Rachel announces.

Charlie can tell that Miles doesn’t want to turn around, but he squares his shoulders and does so anyway, crouching down to make a fire with some flint he removes from his pocket.

“Go…where?” Aaron asks.

“To Texas," Rachel promptly responds.

Aaron exchanges an, _Is she crazy?_ glance with Charlie, before saying, “Oh yeah. That makes total sense.” The sarcasm is so devoid of inflection that Charlie fights the urge to smirk.

Miles has got the kindling to light and is coaxing the fire with his lips. His face is unreadable. Charlie strips the meat and lays it on some stones over the fire.

“Ok then. I guess I’ll be the one to ask,” Charlie says with irritation. “What the hell’s in Texas, Mom?”

Rachel gives her a sharp look, as if she’s taken offense at Charlie’s mild profanity. Charlie rolls her eyes.

“There’s someone I need to see in Texas. He might have some answers about what Randall said to us…” Rachel lapses into silence.

Miles suddenly looks up at Rachel from under his dark eyebrows. “I’m not coming.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel says with evident annoyance.

“I’m going home.”

Rachel makes a sound in between a snort and a scoff. “Miles, you can’t go home. You’ll die.”

Miles looks down at the fire with a heaviness that suggests, _Then so be it_.

Charlie exclaims, “Miles!” in a voice full of instantly budding tears. She’s ashamed that she can't better control her emotions - especially in the presence of such stoicism - but she’s incredibly alarmed at the prospect of what's left of their family breaking up again. She doesn't think she can bear it.

Miles fixes his sad eyes on her. “Charlie, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but…the Republic was mine. I built it. I need to be with them. I need to see what happened.”

In exasperation, Rachel says, “Miles, I know you feel remorse, but you don’t have to go down with your ship!"

“Don’t talk to me about remorse, Rachel,” Miles returns viciously. He gets to his feet. “And don’t try to come with me, Charlie.”

So he’s already sensed the resolve growing in Charlie’s chest. It’s not just Miles she’s reluctant to part with or abstract nostalgia for her village; it’s Jason. He doesn’t know about the nuclear missiles, and he’ll try to go back home. She’s got to intercept and warn him.

Miles has been watching her face carefully and reads her correctly again. “Jason is back with the Militia, Charlie. I heard it said around camp. Tom and Jason have overthrown Monroe. Monroe’s on the run.”

Charlie can scarcely make herself register this. “What? That can’t be. Jason…he’s loyal to me!”

“That may be, Charlie, but his father isn’t. He’ll have you killed in a second. Tom answers to one person and that’s himself. You cannot go looking for Jason!” Miles practically roars the last part, and Charlie squeezes her eyes shut.

“Monroe is…he’s on the loose?” Rachel asks with trembling lips, an odd smile forming at the corners of her mouth like she is graphically plotting his murder.

“Forget about him!” Miles snarls at Rachel. “Look, I’ll stay with you until we get to a town. No way I’m going to make it back North without provisions. Then we part ways.”

Charlie’s mind races. She cannot allow Miles to leave them, though she does sympathize with his need to gauge the ruin of the Republic. And she must find Jason. He’s not safe with his father.


	3. Chapter 3

_Aaron_

It feels strange to be in a town where people don’t want to kill him. Aaron knows so little about post-Blackout Texas, and it turns out to be a singularly fascinating place. So far it appears to resemble Texas in the 1830s, during those ten years it spent as an independent republic and never got over. It makes sense that of all the former states in the US, Texas would retain its name…and style. There are Indians riding around on horseback, some with full-on headdresses, as if they’re mocking Hollywood westerns. (They look serious though and have hand-rolled cigarettes hanging out of their lips.) There appears to be some kind of mounted local police force with big, muddy boots, looking menacing and dirty. Everyone – even the town’s citizens – are armed with pistols, and everyone’s wearing cowboy hats. Aaron would laugh if he weren’t envious; he could use some headgear to keep the brutal sun off his puckering neck.

Miles has excused himself to God knows where – and who cares? He’s leaving. _Again_. Aaron wonders if he’ll actually follow through this time. He does seem pretty bent on getting back to see his precious, smoldering empire. Rachel has gone off to see whoever’s supposed to help shed light on what they’re doing next. Aaron feels less curious about that and more nauseous, but hey, he’s used to Rachel being a tremendous source of stress. Charlie claimed she was going to window shop – clearly a load of crap – but Aaron has no control over Charlie when she sets her mind to something. He just hopes she hasn’t gone on a fools’ errand after Jason, because somehow, at this point in their journey, Charlie has been elevated to savior status in his mind. Like if Charlie dies, then the world will really be at an end. So, against their terrible odds, she has got to survive.

As for himself, local Mexican food smells mighty enticing, and he has a pocketful of gold-flecked rocks that Miles stole off some sleeping dude outside of town, which he then divided among the travelers. Hell, there’s no one here to tell Aaron to save his money for a rainy day, so why not pretend he’s on top of the world again like when he owned his houses and his jets…and still had a wife?

Aaron enters the saloon from which the Mexican food wafts and orders a beer and some pork tacos off a dusty blackboard behind the bar. It takes an inordinately long time for the food to actually appear – to the point where Aaron wonders if they’re killing the pigs out back. When it does arrive, the tacos are dripping in grease and smell like heaven. Aaron’s heart skips a beat. As he’s about to take the first bite, he senses he has company, but refuses to look until the pork is melting like butter in his mouth. Besides, it’s just Miles, Aaron can tell by the smell (which sounds weird, but they’ve sweat a lot in each other’s company by this point). Miles is dragging Charlie by the scruff like she’s his very naughty puppy.

“Knew you’d put that money to good use, Aaron. Well done. Blow it on one stupid meal,” Miles critiques, flinging Charlie onto a bar stool. She looks like she’s about to take out an arrow and jam it through Miles’s jugular. Miles places a supply-laden backpack on the floor.

It takes Aaron a moment to process Miles’s insult. Miles always, _always_ , gets under Aaron’s skin. Miles is so one of those dicks Aaron dreaded dealing with all throughout his school years. If they could just go to summer camp together for one night, Aaron would short sheet the shit out of Miles and even up the score.

Aaron retorts, “You’re just jealous, because these tacos taste as awesome as they smell.”

Miles snorts, and Aaron notices that Miles has gotten a haircut, resembling the recluse they first met in Chicago all those eons ago. Aaron takes Miles’s lack of a comeback to mean that he is indeed envious of the tacos, but Miles just orders a whiskey and takes a seat by Charlie.

“You want something, Charlie?” Aaron asks her.

She narrows her eyes at Miles: “Yeah. I want to go find Jason and warn him that home isn’t safe!”

“Not gonna happen, Charlie,” Miles snaps.

So this is why Miles practically dragged Charlie in here. She was probably trying to slip out of town to go after the Nevilles. She can be as stubborn as her mother. For smart women, they can truly lack common sense.

“How’d you know to find me in here anyway?” Aaron asks Miles.

“I keep tabs on you, Aaron. Never know when you’re going to get yourself killed. I told Rachel to meet us here when she’s done with…whatever it is she’s doing,” Miles mumbles the last part grumpily. Aaron can tell Miles is fuming at Rachel, whether because of Nora’s death or something else.

It doesn’t take long for Rachel to show up. She looks worn and solemn, but at the sight of Miles’s short hair, she, frankly, ogles a little. _Those two_ , Aaron thinks. He’s definitely curious about their past together and how it affected Ben, but prying information from Rachel and Miles is like extracting a smile from a Wimbledon ref. Aaron grins to himself. He used to love watching tennis on his 80-inch flatscreen. You could see Rafael Nadal’s actual sweat.

 “Where did you find Charlie?” Rachel says to no one in particular, but it must be directed at Miles, because all Aaron’s found so far are tacos.

“Where do you think? Going after Jason,” Miles responds crossly.

“Charlotte Matheson, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Rachel proclaims. “Please tell me you have more sense than that.”

Charlie shoots her a filthy glance. “Don’t call me that, mother.”

Miles is leaning on his elbows at the bar taking a hearty swig and glances back at Charlie. “What: Charlotte? Why not?”

“I hate that name.”

“It was my mother’s name,” Miles says mildly, staring back ahead. He might be hurt. Aaron can’t tell.

Charlie looks chagrined. She’s a sensitive kid. She asks after a moment, “What was Gram like?” Then she turns to her mom to add, “Was she like Dad?”

Aaron notices Miles's mouth twitch.

Without looking back, he says, “Rachel didn’t know her. She died when Ben and I were boys.”

“Oh. What’d she die of?” Charlie inquires, looking a bit guilty at her own interest.

“Cancer,” Miles says, but Aaron notices Miles lacks that rough tone he often gets when he doesn’t want to talk about something. He even adds, “She _was_ a little like Ben – gentle, always believed the best in people.”

“And was she like you?” Charlie presses.

Miles shrugs and takes another sip of whiskey. “Maybe. She didn’t say much.”

Aaron and Rachel exchange a ‘so that’s where he gets it’ glance.

Miles continues, “She held onto the things she loved, I guess. Even if it was stupid.”

Aaron finds this admission interesting. So Miles admits that he loves with profound attachment. Aaron has suspected this, but he’s almost surprised that Miles realizes it about himself. Miles doesn’t strike him as particularly self-analytical.

“I don’t think holding onto the things you love is stupid,” Charlie announces with fire, probably thinking of Jason again.

“Yeah, well you’re young,” Miles returns with a little edge.

Sensing tension rising, Aaron attempts, “So Rachel, what did you learn from your friend in town?”

“Later, Aaron.”

_Of course. Always later._

Rachel’s eyes have fixed on Miles, and Aaron can tell he’ll get nothing else from her.

“Miles. I need to talk to you outside,” she insists.

Miles looks at her like she’s just asked him to walk barefoot across a live Texas BBQ pit.

“No thanks,” he answers icily, his jaw jumping.

“I’m not asking,” Rachel demands, her eyes narrowed.

Miles huffs, gulps the last of his whiskey, and tromps off after her. So Rachel, like Charlie, is in Miles’s irrevocable affection. He can’t resist either of them. Not really.

* * *

 

_Rachel_

Rachel’s mind is brimming with what David Mendez (her contact from the DOD in town) has just informed her, but first things first – she’s got to convince Miles to stay with them. In another twist of fate, it turns out to be absolutely imperative that he accompany them on this new journey – even leaving her feelings for him (or Charlie’s feelings for that matter) aside.

Once Rachel and Miles are standing outside the saloon, she tries to determine her best avenue of approach. Miles has his hands on his hips and is glaring at her. He doesn’t appear very receptive. Is he angry about the sex? He has to suspect it meant more to her than she was letting on. But it’s too complicated for them to pursue that. She’d lied when she said she just wanted to feel something other than pain. She had desired _him_ , needed to feel _him_ inside of her to prove they’d survived. But they have too much of a fucked up history to groom a real relationship. Miles once abandoned her to be tortured by Bass’s minions, for God’s sake. She can’t just pretend that never happened. But she can still want him. Even now.

“Miles…you can’t leave Charlie. She needs you,” Rachel tries. It’s true, actually. She doesn’t want it to be, but it is.

“You’re here for her now,” Miles says quietly. Clearly though her words have affected him. “Look, I’ll meet up with you guys again in a few months. I just need to do this.”

“A few months? No, it’ll be too late. You’ll already have been exposed.” Rachel takes a deep breath. “Fine then. If you won’t do it for Charlie, do it for me. Please don’t abandon me. Not again.”

Miles’s dark eyes flash. “The hell? Really? You fuck me,” his voice actually breaks on the word fuck – he’s really hurt by that – Rachel had imagined him as tougher, “and tell me it’s meaningless, and now you want me to stay for _you_?” He stamps his foot like an impatient horse. “Besides it’s because of you that…”

His sentence completely fractures.

“What? What’s because of me?” Rachel asks…needlessly. _What isn’t my fault?_ she wonders.

“Nora. You just left her there to die. Charlie told me.”

“Jesus, Miles,” Rachel objects in swift irritation. How can he bring up that woman now? “Nora would have died anyway! You saw the severity of her wound.”

“Yeah, I did see when I was carrying her to the infirmary. Carrying her, because I don’t just leave the wounded alone to die!”

“Seriously, Miles? _Seriously_?”

They are roaring at each other. People have stopped in the street to stare, and Charlie and Aaron have come out from the bar. Charlie physically steps in between them, as if this might come to blows.

Miles is twitching in rage.

 “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your soldiers, Miles!” Rachel spits.

“I wouldn’t dare. You’re nothing like my soldiers! You’re a coward…and, and,” Miles is reduced to sputtering. He’s never been good at putting voice to his emotions, and it’s almost comical to watch him try.

It may be cruel, but she taunts, “And what? I’m a coward and what, Miles?”

“You suck!” comes the pathetic response.

Rachel’s mouth drops open. Before she can think of how to respond to this sheer idiocy, Charlie has interrupted them.

“Oh, for God’s sakes. You two are like kids! Enough!”

Aaron almost chuckles, but Charlie isn’t finished. She’s truly her mother’s daughter, Rachel observes.

“Miles, if you’re leaving, then go. It’s what you’re good at. Go!” Charlie cries at him.

Miles doesn’t even look at Charlie. He swings his backpack onto his shoulder and calls back, “I’ll meet up with you in Helena in two months. Don’t get yourselves killed before then. And stay away from Neville!”

Rachel has an insane fantasy about chasing Miles down and wrapping herself around his body, telling him that he is Charlie’s father and that they should stay together and be a real family. But she can’t – she doesn’t believe that they could. She’s not even sure she loves Miles anymore, or if she is just drawn to him by a lifetime of habit. But the emotions scarcely matter at this point. What Mendez has told her is what matters.

Rachel turns to Charlie and Aaron in the void Miles has left behind. “Well…we’ve got to go after him. We need him for California.”

“For what?” Aaron asks.

Rachel can’t explain this to them – at least not in full – or they won’t help her.

“Mom, you’ve got to tell us. We don’t have to follow you blindly,” Charlie objects with a maturity that frightens Rachel.

Rachel quickly decides to divulge a partial truth.

“The US government caused the Blackout…You know that. They leveled things to make way for change. Well, it seems that government’s planning to return.”

Charlie and Aaron exchange a grave glance.

“Is that necessarily bad?” Aaron asks, perhaps dreaming of retrieving his former status as Google it-boy.

Rachel shoots him a cutting glance. “A government who would end the world, let it rot for 15 years, and then…who knows what comes next? We need information. That information is in the California Commonwealth.”

“Why there?” Charlie asks, frowning.

“Governor Affleck. He isn’t who we think he is. He knows what’s going to happen, and…he doesn’t want it to.”

What Rachel’s not saying is that Affleck was former high-level CIA. He knows exactly how the president is planning to come back to restore the United States. But he defected somewhere along the way – that much is apparent – or Randall would have joined forces with him. But here is the part Rachel truly mustn’t give away. In order to win Affleck’s trust, she has to give him something, according to Mendez. What she must give him is Miles or Monroe or the pair of them. Apparently, during one of their conquest phases, they tried to invade the Commonwealth and slaughtered untold numbers of Californians. Handing them over as war criminals is the only way Mendez can conceive of Rachel gaining access to Affleck’s inner sanctum. And so, she must either turn over Miles or use him to extract and deliver up his former best friend. Either way, she must have Miles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure when Bass became a Shakespeare scholar, but hey; extra points if you can name the plays.

_Bass_

Bass has been skulking around near the Miles conglomerate for days. He isn’t exactly sure why… He _could_ reconnoiter the Militia camp – try to suss out if any of the officers are still loyal to him, but honestly, there’s a slim chance of that given what happened with Jeremy. Well, no need to dwell upon that. So why is it exactly that Bass is clinging to Miles like some miserable, unrequited-love, high-school stalker? Quite simply: What else is there to do? He’s homeless. Just a few hours sequestered in the Tower (while Neville pissed in his bed) and his kingdom for a horse.

Worth it, though, ( _worth it?_ ) if he can have Miles back. It sounds so pathetic, yet in his heart’s core that’s the truth of it. Since his ejection as dictator of the Monroe Republic, at the top of his emotional docket has been: Relief. The king is retired for now, perhaps forever. A man in his time plays many parts and all that – he’d rather be cast in the supporting role anyway.

Fortuitously, Miles has separated from the pack. Fortune favors the underdog. Now Bass is biding his time, waiting for his in. Suddenly, the suspense is over.

“Bass, come out from there. I can hear your stupid bushwhacking from a mile away,” Miles announces in annoyance.

They have indeed been cutting through a sea of scrubby bushes, blades born against brittle brambles that catch and pull on one’s pants, leaving bloody scrapes beneath torn fabric.

“Well as long as it’s bushwhacking and not the other kind of whacking,” Bass answers, coming out from behind the rise he was using as a paltry screen.

“The hell are you following me for?” Miles grumbles, using one of his swords to decapitate a cactus that had clawed its way to the sun through the scrub.

“Don’t have anywhere else to go.” Honesty is sometimes the best policy.

Miles fixes Bass with a dark gaze. He wipes some sweat from his sunburnt neck. “Well, I doubt you’ll want to join me on this particular journey.”

“What journey?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Bass shrugs. Miles is walking again, and Bass is trying to keep close to his friend’s stained back, not wanting to be left behind.

Miles snorts from ahead like he can’t believe Bass’s fatuousness. “Remorse! Redemption. If there is any to be had…probably isn’t.”

Bass notices the sloping shoulders stoop a little more than usual.

“Have to try though,” Miles finishes, his jaw working.

Bass isn’t sure what Miles means by any of this. It’s sounds awfully impractical for best friend. An emotional quest? Miles has never been particularly self-analytical, preferring instead indulgent self-pity.

“So you're going...?” Bass tries to extract something concrete from this Pilgrim’s Progress nonsense.

“Home. Or to what’s left of it. Randall nuked Philly.”

Bass stops in his tracks. Miles halts as well, sensing this cessation of their rhythm, and Bass finds this instantly comforting. So Miles is giving him a chance – isn’t hell-bent on abandoning him.

But the Republic. Can it really be gone – expunged by the crude eraser of a nuclear warhead? Bass who so recently contemplated using a nuke on Atlanta is horrified at the prospect of his own country succumbing to such barbarism.

Miles appears to be watching his face. “So you _do_ care about the Republic? I guess I'm not the only apple of your eye after all.”

The comment brings back the humiliation of having put voice to something that was only a feeling before: that everything Bass had done in life had been to please Miles.

Bass sputters, “The Republic…we made it. Together.” Those words are no less mortifying. They sound like a reflection on a failed marriage. It’s not lost on Miles.

“How romantic, Bass.” Miles looks disgusted, but in a moment, the hard lines of his craggy face melt. “Well. I suppose, if you want, you can attend this funeral with me. It _is_ fitting. We don’t have any other kids to mourn.”

Bass flinches at the irony of that statement. The need to find his biological son is almost the only thing he has left of himself. But he has no leads on that – at least not out here in the Southwest. Back in the Monroe Republic, if anyone’s still alive, he might have a chance.

Miles starts walking again and launches back over his shoulder, “If you do anything stupid – to me or to anyone else – I’ll slice you into bits, Bass.”

Bass scampers a bit to catch up, his heart rising. He and Miles on a quest…together again.

* * *

 

_Miles_

They’ve walked all day and well into the evening, saying nothing. This is as comfortable a silence as it gets. They’ve used their eyes, a twitch of their muscles, a flick of the hand to communicate: _There is water; I need a piss; I’m spent – let’s sack out_. They were always two halves of the same brain, and somehow through all of this, that part hasn’t changed.

Bass immediately, wordlessly sets about igniting a fire and tosses a blanket in his friend’s general direction; Miles realizes that it feels damn good to be taken care of. It gets so cold out here in the desert so fast, and with his family (hell, even with his army) he had to make all the decisions on behalf of everyone’s survival. But here is Bass, trained in the art of soldering, treating Miles like a goddamned grandma, and he loves it. The fire roars to life, and Bass sits down right next to Miles, close enough to touch thighs. Miles flings the blanket over both their shoulders almost like lovers, but no one’s out here to think it strange or to question their manliness. Warmed from the side and front, Miles’ shoulders relax; his teeth stop chattering. He extracts some dried meat and apples from his pack, and their jaws go to work.

“So…where in the Republic are we headed?” Bass asks, sticking his finger behind his teeth to dislodge some wayward jerky.

“Philly.”

“Seems…idiotic, really. Why not go somewhere further away from the blast site?”

“Bass, you forfeited your right to an opinion when you became a psycho.”

“Okay…But honestly, Miles. We used to look at those pictures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as boys. They were completely leveled. Charred like fire pits. People were vaporized. There’s nothing there, man. Let it go.”

Miles grunts. His chest aches, but other than that, he is numb.

“C’mon,” Bass is continuing. “The survivors will be out West.” He waits a patient moment for Miles to come around. “Any sense of why Randall nuked Philly?”

Miles glances at Bass from the side. It startles Miles how good it feels to be back with his friend, talking like this. “Philly _and_ Atlanta, actually,” he answers Bass. “Rachel thinks the United States is back or something.” It hurts a little to say her name, but he swallows it.

“What?”

Miles realizes that makes no sense. Is a non-sequitor even. “Dunno. Maybe Rachel’ll know something more when I hook back up with them.”

“So you’re going back to them.”

“Yeah. What did you think?” Irritation is rising. “That we’d run off together and live happily ever after?” It’s cruel, but Miles has to remind Bass that he’s being punished. Bass killed Danny, Emma, countless others…well, at least _got_ them killed. It makes Miles sick to contemplate. Best not to.

Bass just shrugs and looks straights ahead. He stuffs the last of the jerky into his mouth.

“Tired,” Miles admits. He lays back, pulling the blanket off them and using it to cover himself.

“I’ll take first watch then. Get some sleep,” comes the voice, as Miles drifts off. He hasn’t slept this well on the move since leaving Chicago.

* * *

 

_Charlie_

The town they’ve just departed, henceforth known as Taco Town (by Aaron), was a post-apocalyptic boomtown: it didn’t have any of the old light fixtures or trappings of electricity, and therefore it’s citizens had no inkling of the fact that Power had returned to the world. It was a very surreal introduction back into reality, and Charlie is deeply curious to see how humans are functioning with the turn of events. Are they elated? Panicking?

Right now she, Aaron, and Rachel are traversing the desert, where things are and have always been primeval.  They’re maybe an hour or two behind Miles, and her mother trudges along in churlish silence as she presumably ponders how to gather Miles back into the fold. Sometime after dark, they locate a campfire, and sure enough, there is Miles…with _Monroe_. Charlie chokes back swift and gut-wrenching betrayal. How can this be? Did Miles plan all along to abandon them for Monroe? Both Charlie and her mother lunge forward, but Aaron flings out both arms to keep them at bay. He shakes his head at them: Bad dogs.

Charlie whispers, her voice almost soggy with pain, “Why?”

She can practically feel the heat off her mother’s head as it is computing this new information. What she’ll do with her conclusions, Charlie’s afraid to find out. They creep closer to try to hear the conversation between the two men, who are huddled so close under a blanket that they look like one person, two heads. Their verbal exchange is as if between twins – so clipped, so familiar – it’s a language all their own.

Aaron is regarding them with a kind of detached fascination, like he’s studying a magnificent specimen. Charlie just feels sick. Replaced, even. Rachel looks like she could shank one or both of them at any moment.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bass_

Bass is pondering his oldest friend (his only friend), passed out beside him. Bass watches the chest rise and fall and thinks that Miles looks significantly older (gray in the beard and at the temples, deep canyons in the cheeks and around the eyes). The past year has taken a significant toll. Bass and Miles used to joke when they were president and general that they aged five years for every one – an attempt to make light of the oppressive stress, which constantly threatened the limits of what they could bear.

What could have made Miles so much more tired than the burden of governing in the past year? _Redemption_. So he says. Odd, unnatural even for Miles. To some extent, Miles has always been a bit like this with his emotions. He rarely discussed feelings with Bass, but when he did, they tumbled out unedited like a child. Bass used to find it perplexing but also endearing. Now it’s just unsettling, and Bass has agreed to come along for the ride. What will it cost him?

When Bass probes the origins of this strange, new Miles, all he can think is it must be Charlotte’s influence – that impulsively gallant, ardent girl who flung herself in front of a gun for her brother. Bass is indefinably taken with her. And _Danny_. Rachel blames Bass for Danny’s death, and Miles does…maybe? But Miles is no stranger to war. In war, allegiances shift and realign, and the real warrior learns forgiveness (or at least temporary forgetfulness); he takes the allies that present themselves, or he loses. And so Miles and Bass are a unit again built on feigned forgetfulness, the transgressions of their shared past, and the uncertainty of their futures.

A crackle of dry branches and an arm around Bass’s neck, a sharp pain in his shoulder, and Miles suddenly thuds on top of him with a heaviness that takes Bass’s breath away. At first Bass thinks Miles has attacked him, but then he realizes when he hears a crack of bone that is not his: Miles has saved him. Blood is seeping from Bass's shoulder wound, and instinctively, he covers it with his hand. Then he takes stock of what has happened. Rachel. Charlie. The fat guy with glasses. Miles breathing heavily on top of Rachel. Miles has snapped her wrist.

* * *

 

_Aaron_

Rachel has rolled away from Miles and is grasping her injured wrist, her face twisted in pain. Charlie whisks over to her mother and helps her cradle it, gazing back over a shoulder in horror at Miles.

“Miles! You broke my mother’s wrist.”

Miles looks upset, but he’s moved over to Bass to help tie off the shoulder wound with a strip of cloth from the blanket.

Rachel and Miles lock eyes then, and for a moment, Aaron wonders if they will kill each other. He’s not sure if they’re in love or locked in a passionate, mutual loathing, but their eyes are sucking the energy from the camp like a black hole.

Miles swallows and says, “I’m sorry, Rachel. I had to. You were going to kill him.”

“You’re wrong. I was just going to cut off his arm. He’s owes me for Danny.”

Miles raises his eyebrows and says very carefully, like he’s dealing with the mentally ill, “He owes you what: a pound of flesh?”

And maybe Rachel _is_ a psychopath, Aaron thinks. Maybe they all are, except Charlie. He suddenly wants to flee.

Miles has finished binding Bass’s shoulder and walks over to Rachel.

“Let me see it," he says with a gruff concern.

“Get away from me,” Rachel growls coldly.

Miles ignores her rebuff and ignites a stick from the fire to hold near her wrist. Black and blue is already spreading.

“Can you flex it?” Miles asks.

Rachel does but cries out. Miles looks very contrite, but what is done is done.

“We should set it,” he says simply.

Charlie and Miles go to work fastening a stick to Rachel’s wrist, while Aaron eyes Monroe with trepidation. Monroe is staring vacantly at the fire, and Aaron wonders if he’s pondering how to make quick work of triple homicide.

Charlie finally asks, “Miles. What the _hell_ are you doing with _him_?”

Aaron admires her guts.

Miles shakes his head at Charlie. “Don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Why? I thought we were…”

Charlie doesn’t finish the sentence. It’s painful for Aaron to hear the hurt in her voice. He finds he’s very angry with Miles for doing this to Charlie. To all of them. 

Miles finishes with the wrist and lets his hands drop into his lap. He runs a hand limply over his face. “Ok, Charlie. Ok. I just…I don’t know _how_ to explain. I know you can’t understand…”

“I understand a lot more than you give me credit for.”

Miles meets her flashing eyes. “I believe you do,” he says. He gets up and stands before the fire with his back to them, facing Monroe. Aaron can’t see if they exchange a glance, but it makes him nervous.

Finally Miles’s back says, “Bass is coming with me home. And the only ‘because’ I can offer you” (he seems to only be addressing Charlie) “is he and I made this mess together, and we’ll see it through together. I _know_ what he did…to us, to our family. But I guess…”

Miles finally turns around and looks piercingly at Charlie. He's incredibly broken in the dim light of the fire, and Aaron softens slightly toward him.

“I guess, I just can’t give up on him. I can’t believe there’s nothing left of him. Can you understand that?” Miles asks the last part with genuine hope.

Charlie slowly rises and holds Miles’s sad eyes. He looks like he wants to flinch away but wills himself to stay connected. Aaron is impressed with their communication. They’ve come a long way together.

“I don’t like it. But I can understand,” she replies, and Miles's shoulders ease.

Rachel speaks from behind them. She is leaning against a log, cushioning her injured wrist. “Charlie. Ask him,” she orders.

Aaron is confused at the shorthand, but Charlie seems to comprehend.

“Miles, we need you to come with us. There’s no time to go back to the Republic,” Charlie says.

Miles exhales sorrowfully. “Charlie, I can’t. Not yet. Don’t ask me again.”

Charlie glances back at her mother, and clearly she doesn’t want to ask Miles again.

Rachel's eyes go dark, and she says with a shaking, but demanding voice, “ _Charlie_.”

“Miles, please,” Charlie practically whimpers.

Aaron can’t tell if it’s a trick of the firelight, but Miles’s eyes look wet.

Miles says quietly but firmly, “No.”

The voice from the ground now coolly intones without the hint of a quaver, “Charlie’s _begging_ you, Miles." A pause. "Would you really deny your daughter this after everything you've made her suffer?”

“My…what?”


	6. Chapter 6

_Bass_

“Miles. You must have suspected,” Rachel says with a air of smugness.

Bass shakes off the throbbing in his shoulder to try to process the collective trauma that has been unleashed by this woman. He’s impressed with her. She’s a master of the dramatic turn. Miles is sort of backing up to the point where he physically collides with Bass, who stills him by placing his functioning hand on Miles’s back. Miles freezes like prey.

Charlie, the other person who has been cataclysmically steamrolled by her mother's revelation, is teetering shakily toward Rachel in pursuit of clarity.

“What are you saying?” Charlie's trembling lips manage.

Rachel gazes steadily back and forth from Charlie to Miles. “Miles is your biological father, Charlie.” Rachel has an almost playful curl to her lip, like she is performing an experiment.

“How can you be sure?” Miles now. Charlie shoots him a condemning glance.

Given the fact that it was an affair does make it a fair question. Brothers share significant DNA. A simple lab test may very well not have been enough to determine paternity.

Rachel is looking incredulously at Miles. “You really want me to explain that in front of everyone?”

So, Bass thinks. No DNA test required. Rachel must only have slept with Miles during the window in which she became pregnant. That’s interesting. He doesn’t know much about the affair except that it happened when Miles was home on leave after being interred for months in an Afghan prison. When Bass and Miles reunited in Parris Island, Miles had been extremely remorseful, but his passion for Rachel continued unabated even after they'd learned that Rachel and Ben were expecting their first child.

Miles’s eyes look black like the sky. He heaves and then kind of collapses inward. Bass sees him try to look at Charlie, but instead he lopes away at light speed.

Charlie’s mouth is open, formless. Bass admires this kid – he really does. He’s interested to see what she’ll do next, and he’s not entirely convinced that stabbing her mother with her sword is out of the question. But in a moment, Charlie tries to go after Miles - the least expected of the multiple-choice options.

Bass catches Charlie with the good arm, and her eyes flash murderously at him. Immediately, he releases her.

“I wouldn’t,” Bass explains. “For your sake. Let me.”

Charlie looks at Bass as if he’s just finished his sentence: “Let me: decapitate your puppy,” but he turns and strides after Miles without waiting for her to object. When he’s a good distance from the campfire, he senses that he’s being followed. It’s not Charlie – it’s Rachel.

“You really shouldn’t follow me. Or if you’re here to try and stab me again, let me remind you that Militia swordplay uses both hands. I’m still at least 50% more dangerous than you are. Unless you’ve got another grenade tucked in your pocket, but I thought we’d already discussed why that option's not for you.”

Rachel cocks her head impatiently, waiting for the oration to end. “Relax. I’m not here to stab you, though it’s always tempting. I’m here to tell you: you both have to come with us to California.”

“And why would I do that?” Bass shifts his body weight to ease his shoulder.

“Because your son’s there with President Affleck.”

Bass makes a sound somewhere between an exhale and a laugh. “Rachel, how stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all, Bass. Deranged? Sick? Yes and yes.”

Bass’s eyes widen as he envisions extracting his sword and beating her silly with the blunt of it.

A slow smile spreads across her lips. “My contact in Texas told me. Your son has become Affleck’s aide. Randall knew all this time.”

Bass shakes his head, covering his mouth with his hand. “I don’t believe you. I told you about my son in the bunker, and you’re just finding a way to use it against me.”

“Believe what you want, Bass, but do you really want to miss the chance to see your son? Even if it’s a slim one?”

“Rachel, I’m going after Miles. I may not have much parenting experience, but I’m just going to suggest that you might want to check on your daughter.”

Bass leaves abruptly, blood rising to his cheeks. Rachel’s just playing me, he thinks. The woman’s a manipulative genius. And yet, she’s right. If there’s even a chance that his son is with Affleck…

At last he has found Miles, pacing back and forth in the darkness, expelling air like a nervous horse. Bass is wary of approaching his friend in this state. After all this time and everything they’ve been through, Miles can still sting him with words.

“Miles. Be sensible about this,” Bass offers from afar.

Miles stops pacing and growls, “Sensible? _You’re_ asking me to be sensible? You who went hide-the-paste crazy and fucked everything up?”

Bass bites his lip. “That’s not exactly fair, but…it’s not the point either. I’m saying, no matter what DNA Charlie is carved from, Ben’s her real dad, isn’t he? He raised her.”

Miles nods slowly, rubbing his stubble. “Yes. And frankly, Bass, I’m almost glad I didn’t know. Because Charlie is the only thing…” his voice cracks. “She’s the only thing I respect about the world anymore. And that’s to Ben’s credit.”

Self-loathing Miles. A very familiar Miles. “Well, man, I’m not saying you didn’t _deserve_ a chance with Charlie,” Bass attempts, but he knows it’s pointless.

There’s pain in Miles’s eyes when he returns, “I can’t explain how it feels to find out after all this time.”

“It feels like someone just took everything the world meant to you and turned it upside down. Like you were handed a new purpose but one you have no ability to pursue.”

Miles’s mouth falls open.

“I’m just guessing,” Bass attempts to recover. Telling Miles about his own son is out of the question. It would require revealing his betrayal of Miles with Emma – Bass’s deepest fount of guilt. The event he inexplicably both regrets and treasures.

Miles puts his hands on his hips and looks at the endless checkerboard of sand and scrubs. They both notice the twinkle of city lights in the distance – a sight they never thought they’d behold again.

“We’ve got to go with them, Miles,” Bass informs matter-of-factly.

Miles peels his eyes away from the manmade stars to question Bass silently.

“You can’t leave Charlie now,” Bass explains.

“What? I should forge some twisted little family with Rachel and Charlie? Try to replace Ben? Me – a miserable mass-murderer, a cheater, a washed-up drunk who infects everyone around him and usually, no _always_ in the end, gets them killed?”

“Wow. So we’ll deal with your self-image problem later," Bass says, putting up his hands in surrender. He regroups, “No, you’re not going to replace Ben. But you need to fulfill your responsibility to Charlie, or you’ll ruin the – what was it? – one person left in the world you respect.” Bass folds his arms: Game, set, match.

Bass is once again spellbound by Rachel’s cunning. Not only has she managed to convince Bass that he should accompany her to California, but here he is making a damn compelling case that if Miles doesn’t join them, he’ll shatter his only child’s psyche. Rachel somehow wins every time.

Miles has already begun walking back toward camp, and now Bass does not even have the time to reconsider if the two of them should have walked the other direction – toward the sparkles in the distance, putting as much desert between them and Rachel as humanly possible, leaving Charlie and the fat guy to the wolves.


	7. Chapter 7

_Charlie_

“Charlie.”

It’s a voice that’s come to mean so many things to her in this past year. She now trusts it above all other voices, cherishes it, craves the comfort it imbues. But now that’s been taken from her, too, like all other things in life, and she doesn’t know what to make of it anymore. Or the man behind it.

She won’t turn around to look at him. “Why can’t you just stay gone, Miles? All you do is go.” Her own voice is flat, emotionless. She is grateful for the vast numbness that is coarsing through her bloodstream, as it's the only thing keeping her sane.

“I’m sorry, I…honestly, I just needed a moment. Look at me.” Insistent now.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Miles. You’re not my father!”

“Charlie,” Miles growls, “Turn around and look at me, goddammit!”

He’s so angry that it jumpstarts her feelings, and suddenly, she is weeping. She hates it when this happens – everything seems to make her cry. She wants so badly to be stoic like Miles, who silently shed tears only when he lost the woman he loved. But when Charlie finally turns around, shockingly Miles’s eyes look wet. Or maybe it is a trick of the firelight.

Charlie is aware that they have an audience, and through a dirty windowpane of tears sees Aaron, Monroe, and her mother – her mother especially - watching them with rapt interest. Charlie huffs in frustration, and Miles appears to sense the source of her fury.

“Give us a minute!” he orders the rest, and to their credit, they quickly shuffle off, even her mother.

Charlie is looking at the ground. She feels a dirty hand lift her chin so that she has to look into the endless brown murk of his eyes. The hand just cups her cheek before falling back to his side. Incongruous tenderness from this gruff, dangerous man.

“I know I’m not your dad. Ben will always be your dad, and I would never even think about trying to replace him. So you don’t need to worry about that. And I’m sorry, Charlie, you have no idea how sorry, about what happened between me and your mother. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I don’t even want you to.”

Charlie’s tears have stopped, and she blinks at him. This is a lot of talk for Miles. She’s amazed at how much he’s trying.

“I only want you to know that I won’t do that again: threaten to leave. I promise that I won’t leave you. _Ever_. Ok? It’s the least I can do for you, after how hard I’ve made life for you. And I…shit! I...” Miles's lips tremble, and he has to look away.

Charlie steps toward him. “It’s ok, Miles. You don’t have to –”

He waves her off. “Let me finish. I’m afraid to love things in this world, because I love things to their destruction. I loved Bass, Nora, the Republic…your goddamned mother…and I love you something awful, Charlie. Your mother was right: I should have known you were mine, because it’s terrible caring about someone as much as I do you.”

Charlie stands in stunned silence. And then she flings herself into his arms. “I love you, too,” she mumbles into his shirt, the waterworks flipped on once more. She’s sobbing; she's blubbering. It’s ridiculous.

Miles sniffs a little and pulls away to look at her. “Just don’t die, kid. Just please…don’t die.”

She laughs, which through the blanket of tears, sounds more like a _snork_.

“Alright, let’s pull ourselves together before the others come back. I don’t want your mother to see me like this. She preys on weakness.” Miles smiles at her.

But his words strike a nerve. “Miles…my mother. Is she…is she _alright_?”

Miles’s face drops. “Charlie, none of us are alright. But your mother was held against her will for eight years in Philadelphia, because of me. She gets a pass to be a complete nut job if she likes, ok?”

“Are you ever going to tell me why she was a prisoner?”

“Someday, Charlie. But I think we’ve had enough revelations for one night.”

* * *

_Rachel_

By the time, Rachel, Bass, and Aaron returned to camp, all seemed well between Charlie and Miles. Astonishingly, irritatingly so. Rachel can’t seem to do anything to mend the relationship with her daughter, and Miles fixes things in five minutes. She sees him wipe the back of his hand across his nose and wonders vaguely if he’s been crying. She knows it was cruel to him and to Charlie to tell them in this way, but Miles appears to be staying and that is what’s important.

Miles and Bass offer to keep watch over camp while the rest sleep, but no one really seems tired except Charlie, who sacks out on her bedroll. Rachel’s broken wrist is pounding, and she feels a little jealous when she sees Miles delicately unwrap Bass’s shoulder wound to clean it out again. No one checks on her.

Aaron, who is sitting next to Rachel, is also glaring at Bass and Miles. “Love birds. Aren't they sweet?” he complains, attempting to lie down. “I mean, how are we supposed to just accept Monroe – the guy we’ve been trying to kill all this time – the guy who had Ben and Danny murdered?”

Rachel shifts her eyes briefly to Aaron and curls her lips. “We just do. It’s the price of keeping Miles around.”

Aaron throws up his hands: “I just don’t see how even Miles is _that_ important! Because he’s Charlie’s dad?”

“Aaron, I can’t explain everything to you.”

“Oh, I’m so sick and tired of you shutting me out, Rachel. You just made me turn back on the Power, setting off two nuclear bombs. Now you’re making me go to California for some mission I don’t even understand. Why the hell do we need Miles?” He bellows the last part so loudly that both Miles and Bass snap their heads to look at them. Charlie pulls her coat around her ears to block out the argument.

Rachel is well aware that everyone is listening to her answer. _Why do they need Miles?_   To hell with it, she thinks. It may or may not even be true anymore, but it's the simplest answer at this point, and the thought of anything else exhausts her.

“Because I love him.”

Miles wavers in his crouch, and Bass reaches out to steady him.

Aaron’s mouth hangs open, and he says abruptly: “Oh.”

“So…” Rachel allows the dust to settle and then continues, “Miles, how are we going to get to California?”

Miles attempts to clear his throat. He looks pale. She flashes him a half smile to reassure him. _Yes, that happened. Now let’s move forward with the plan._

“Um, well, we’re sure as hell not walking there. I’m not going to Donner Party my ass through the Sierra Nevadas. Bass and I saw some city lights back over that way. We could see if someone there will fly us to Sacramento.”

“Actually Affleck moved capital cities. He’s in San Francisco now,” Rachel informs.

Miles shrugs. “Ok then. We leave at first light.”

Rachel nods and settles into her bedroll. In a moment, through closed eyes, she smells Miles - whiskey, dirt, sweat. She cracks an eye open thinking, _This better not be a booty call_.

“Don’t get bent out of shape, Rachel,” Miles whispers, shifting her so that her arm is resting in his lap. “I’m just here to check your wrist. I’m really sorry for it.”

She allows him to gently inspect the swelling. “It’s ok, Miles,” she whispers and allows herself to drift off feeling cared for…for once.


	8. Chapter 8

_Miles_

Miles opens his eyes with a start. He hadn’t meant to drift off to sleep, as evidenced by the fact that he’s still sitting upright against a backpack with Rachel’s injured hand resting in his lap. He glances around and sees that everyone else is slumbering and no harm appears to have befallen them due to his negligence. He gives Rachel’s bruised hand a sad parting glance, because his dick is hard as a rock and her fingers’ proximity to it only makes it throb more. Relieving his morning wood is out of the question, though; he'll have to shake it off. As soon as he moves Rachel’s hand, she cracks open her eyes.

Miles stretches his stiff arms skyward and shoves back down his shirt over his stomach, noticing Rachel watching. He shifts the front of his pants to hide his erection. A vague smile skirts her lips.

He extends his hand to help her to her feet.

“Better rouse the others, if we’re going to make it to the city before noon,” Miles says.

“You going to take care of that?” Rachel eyes his crotch.

Miles curls his lips and with a curt, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” tramps away from camp to pee.

As he’s pissing, he thinks about Rachel’s masterful orchestration of his feelings. First, she tells him he’s nothing but a fuck buddy, and now she loves him? And each tale she spins, he believes, allowing it to alternately demolish him, then give him hope…He’s pathetic. But he meant what he said to Charlie with a sudden conviction that’s matured into an enduring commitment. He owes Rachel for what he did to her. If she wants to play him, she can play him. He’ll do what it takes to protect her and Charlie, pledging loyalty to them even if it kills him. He’ll even let himself love them without reservation, because, hell, that’s what he wants. They're so fucking beautiful, and, in a way, they're his.

By the time Miles is back at camp, the others are packing up, off having their own pisses, or eating a few scraps of breakfast. Well before noon, they’ve reached the city, Bass leading, Miles taking up the rear, hands on swords, because they don’t know what to expect in this strange, new electrified world. 

The city is in a state of restlessness that somewhat echoes the early days after the Blackout. Some electric contraptions appear to work, others have fallen into disrepair. They see one or two cars roll by, they notice lights in a few windows. People appear to have either holed up, suspicious of each other, or are darting around the streets like they’re afraid to meet passersby. When they hear the alarming _put, put, put_ of gunfire in the distance, Bass waves them off the main streets into back alleys. Miles jogs up to strategize with Bass. It feels damn good to have him here. It’s like Miles’s lobotomized brain has finally been stitched back together, and he can think again.

“Do you have any idea what city this is?” Miles asks Bass. “We need to get to a hangar or a hospital…something that would have aircraft.”

Bass nods, his blue eyes wide, assessing their surroundings for signs of danger. “I’ll go ask around. You keep an eye on them,” Bass nods at the group. He takes off at a jog, like they’re Marines again, on an urban reconnaissance mission.

Miles's chest aches a little, because he knows he can’t get that back - the (relatively) carefree days of being on tour with Bass. A little sad that what was once considered traumatic and sacrificial seems like a walk in the park compared to post-Blackout life. Then there's the problem of Bass himself. Pretending he and Bass are comrades in arms again requires forgetting Danny, Emma, and, most of all, Ben. It means blotting out how Bass probably tortured and raped Rachel for eight fucking years, depriving her of her humanity and that pretty little flicker of joy she used to get in her eyes at the sight of Miles.

Bass is back within 20 minutes. “Hangar. That way.” He points to the left, and they take off.

When they pass an electrical store, Rachel insists that they stop in to loot it for a laptop and sundry other contraptions that are unidentifiable to Miles. What she needs it for, he doesn't bother to ask. It's not his concern. His only concern is keeping her safe.

When they reach the hangar, it's buzzing with life. There are men restoring airplanes, prepping them for flight; one even takes off skyward, making their eardrums throb. Miles lets the sweet-talker Bass ask if anyone’s willing to fly them to California for the paltry sack of gold they have left. Bass can be very persuasive when he's not shooting people in the head. Rachel, meanwhile, is off doing mysterious Rachel things. Miles doesn't even want to know.

Finally, a particularly dirty, shifty-eyed pilot tells Bass and Miles he’s heading to the central coast, and if they’re willing to pack chutes and jump for it – he’ll take them on. Bass and Miles exchange looks. They were lucky enough to go to jump school as Marines – a rare opportunity that nearly every Marine coveted but few won. But they suspect the rest of their crew won’t have quite their enthusiasm for 9.8 straight down.

Bass shakes the pilot's grubby hand (his name's Barney), hands over the gold, and waves the group his direction. Meanwhile, Miles pays another dude for five parachutes. As soon as Aaron sees Miles coming over with the packs, he starts backing up.

“What are those for? Are we planning on crashing? Does this guy even know how to fly?”

Miles shrugs. “I'd assume he does. But no. They’re for when we jump.” Miles glances back at the guy he just bought them from to inquire: “Round or square canopies?”

“Round.”

“Great,” Miles curses quietly. Harder to land.

Aaron is sheet white. “What does that mean?”

“It just means that Bass and I are going to teach you guys how to do a PLF.”

Barney breaks in, “Well, do it quick. We leave in fifteen.”

“A what?” Aaron croaks.

* * *

_Aaron_

To say Aaron is piss-in-the-pants terrified is an understatement. The plane is teeth-grindingly loud, and Miles spends the entire flight equipment-checking Rachel and Charlie over and over again. Aaron gets why Miles is so worried about Rachel – her wrist is broken. But Aaron is the one afraid of heights, and he’s a little concerned that Miles will literally have to shove him out the door when the time comes.

Not only is Aaron scared his chute will malfunction, and he’ll splat like an egg yolk on California, but he’s also convinced that even if he does survive the fall, he won’t be able to control his chute, and he’ll get blown off course to Mexico. Didn’t that happen on D-Day - the paratroopers all got scattered to the winds and couldn’t find each other for weeks? And they were trained for this! Of all the petrifying things Aaron has endured since leaving Wisconsin, this has got to be the worst.

Barney yells back that they’re getting close to the target, and Bass and Miles crawl around checking everyone’s chutes one last time. Bass tugs on Aaron’s pack and screams in his ear:

“You ok, man? You look like you’re going to shit yourself!”

Aaron just trembles; he can’t even answer.

Bass claps him on the shoulder. “Just let yourself fall and don’t forget to pull the chord. It’s the easiest thing you’ll ever do. Trust me!”

_Trust him_ , Aaron thinks. The former dictator of the Monroe Republic. This is where he’s at in life.

Barney announces, “It’s time!”

“Ok, now!” Miles encourages. “You first, Charlie!”

Charlie is pale, but she’s one of the bravest youngsters Aaron’s ever met. She gives Miles a quick look, he nods, and she jumps.

“Rachel! It’ll be ok,” Miles assures her, when he sees Rachel hesitate slightly at the door. She’s gone.

Now, Miles is turning to him, and Sweet Jesus, Aaron’s never been religious a day in his life but he’s praying, and preposterously shuts his eyes to block out the sight of Miles.

“Aaron! You can do this.” Miles keeps saying things, but Aaron has stopped listening. He’s been shoved into the doorway and feels like he’s standing over his grave. Miles yells, “I’m going to push you now!” and he does. Aaron freefalls, thinks of Priscilla, of his yappy dog Zoey in its favorite sweater – the ones with the elbow pads, for crying out loud – and then he pulls the cord. The parachute deploys, and he feels like a genius again. He floats peacefully toward earth.

Parachute landing fall, he thinks all of a sudden. PLF. PLF, PLF! And he does it. He’s amazed at himself. Now the next hurdle: is anyone else here? He appears to be on some kind of hilltop, overlooking a vast forest. There is Charlie, all tangled in her chute like a marionette, and Rachel nursing her arm like it’s a newborn baby. Miles is suddenly running toward Charlie to help her extract herself, while Bass lands last - prancing like a ballet dancer. No PLF needed for him. Shots - gunshots again? Here? Aaron makes out two guys, and sure enough, they’re packing.

“Run!” Bass yells.

But somehow, Charlie and Miles are closer to the gunmen and bear the brunt of their fire. Miles flings his body over Charlie as a shield, and Aaron can tell right away that something serious has happened. Miles isn’t moving. Aaron tries to gather Rachel and get her to move, but she’s transfixed by Miles’s still form.

Meanwhile, Bass, in an astounding show of heroics, has actually run at the gunmen, beaten one silly, stomped on his head, extracted his gun and shot the other. When the danger has passed, evyerone rushes on Charlie and Miles. Charlie has gently rolled Miles off of her, and then Aaron sees it, and it’s really difficult to take in. Miles, the invincible Marine, who’d survived Iraq, Afghanistan, the Blackout, 10 years of militia warfare, and their recent impossible year of peril, has a bullet in his head. There is hardly any blood, but there is something far more disturbing: gray. It registers suddenly. _Miles’s brains._

Aaron falls to his knees to catch Charlie who is rocking back and forth, mouthing, “No, no, no!” but there is no sound - whether it’s because the world has ceased to work right or because Aaron’s eardrums have exploded from the plane ride, he can’t tell.

The truly incredible thing? Miles’s eyes are open, and he says as calmly as if he’s bought Charlie the wrong ice cream flavor. “Sorry, kid. I let you down.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Bass_

His best friend is leaving him. You can tell by the eyes as they glaze, seeing things no mortals know. Bass has never really had illusions of invincibility. Even when he and Miles were young, devil-may-care Marines fresh off of basic training, he had frequent nightmares of Miles as a mannequin without arms or legs, Miles as a butchered slab of meat with no face. He’s imagined these things so many times, he feels as though he actually knows what the insides of Miles look like. Indeed, back in the days when Bass and Miles were inseparable, Bass had gotten into the habit on tour or campaign where he’d bid Miles goodnight by saying, “See ya on the other side,” just to cover his bases. And Miles had always grumbled, “Fuck off.” He didn’t like being reminded of his mortality.

Bass is gently cradling Miles’s mangled head in his lap, so grotesquely close to the wound that Bass feels eerily like it’s dissection hour in biology class. But the bullet didn’t lodge in the brain. In any case, Bass can’t see it, just the vulnerable brain matter - the operations control center where Miles’s thoughts and feelings originate. Bass looks down into the face he’s loved more than anyone else on this bitter, fucking garbage pile of a planet and feels grateful, desperately lucky that he is here to say goodbye to his brother.

“See you on the other side,” Bass whispers to Miles, and Miles tries to answer, “Fuck off,” but catches on the ‘F’ and never finishes. Somehow it’s so tragically appropriate that Miles would die trying to say the f-word one last time that tears well up and begin to cascade down Bass’s face.

Charlie’s no less embarrassing, at least, bawling on Miles’s chest like she’s preparing to expel the 75% of her that is made of water. Out of the corner of Bass’s eye, he senses Rachel extracting a handful of dirty, brown papers from her pocket and shoving them at Aaron. Then, she brandishes a knife and digs open her own knee - a macabre archeologist. Aaron is typing on the computer they lifted from the electronics store: _Composing a poem in memory of Miles? Writing an obituary while the memory is fresh? The hell is going on?_ Bass wonders.

Tears obscure Bass’s vision so much that the next thing he knows, Rachel is cramming something that can only be described as blinking Advil into the hole in Miles’s head. It’s so gruesome that Bass grabs hold of Charlie and drags her off Miles’s limp body. (Miles’s shirt is soaked through from her tears.) Bass can’t allow Charlie to see her own mother desecrate the dead. It’s too cruel. Charlie allows herself to be pulled against Bass, and he covers her face with his hands, a shield against the injustice. Bass continues sobbing onto Charlie’s hair; Charlie blubbers into his chest, at the same time clawing his arms with her fingernails. They’re locked in a mutual ritual of bereavement, bound by confusion, rage, and loss at the one thing that was holding their world together. Rachel simply steps back and waits.

Then the most incredible thing happens. Bass believes at first it’s a trick of his eyes from the trauma of watching Miles expire. Miles’s brain, bone, and scalp regrow, down to the hairs on his head. It’s like watching him receive the wound in slow-motion reverse.

And then…Miles opens his eyes. He looks up at Bass and Charlie, standing over him, gripping onto each other like sweaty koalas. They are shocked into silence - blonde hair wild, jaws agape.

“Miles?” Bass splutters. Charlie grips Bass tighter like she’s afraid of Miles. “Rachel…what?” Bass tries to ask.

Rachel shakes her head. She refuses to explain. It’s her way. “Miles, can you get up?” she asks, offering her good arm. Aaron gently thrusts Rachel aside to assist instead, since Rachel’s knee is dripping blood.

Miles is miraculously on his feet.

Aaron, who appears to be functioning more like a normal human than the others, inquires, “How do you feel?”

Miles responds meekly, “My head kinda hurts?”

The fact that it comes out like a question, shakes Bass out of his stupor, and he laughs, sending snot and tears flying in all directions, including Charlie’s head. She burrows her face into Bass’s armpit to escape the rain of mucous, or perhaps to experience temporary sensory deprivation like a parakeet in an overwhelmingly stimulating environment.

Miles is looking at them like they’ve gone completely mental. “Somebody tell me what in the hell is going on. Why is Bass crying like a big baby? What happened to your knee, Rachel?”

It’s like listening to a ghost.

* * *

_Rachel_

Miles is shot; Miles is dying. _But my knee is fine._ _It’s fine_. What does that _mean?_ It’s a longshot, but if the capsule still works with the power on (which would mean what: _it evolved?_ ), then maybe she can force it into Miles’s brain and regrow the tissue.

Rachel had ripped out the pages of Jane’s diary about programming the capsule before they ever reached the Tower. The information had been too important to keep with the rest, because the capsule had saved Danny, saved her. And she has this laptop now - she’s had the foresight to power it at the hangar. So without thinking, she’s digging the capsule out of her knee and shoving its bloody form into Aaron’s hands. The thing she’s trying her damnedest not to think about - the truly heinous thing among all the things she has perpetrated in life - is this: if the capsule worked anyway, then why hadn’t she turned back on the power earlier? Danny’s life for the world’s...it’s all meaningless now. Maybe. Her brain cannot compute. It will not compute. What’s done is done. But Miles cannot die.

And Miles does not die. She has saved him. What kind of angel (or monster) is someone who’s been brought back from the dead? And what kind of monster brings a person back from death only to hand them over to it once more?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Charlie Matheson Appreciation Week, this chapter focuses heavily on the bad-asstitude of Charlie Matheson. Even Bass is taken by her. :)

_Charlie_

Charlie’s still reeling from the emotions of watching her uncle (or whatever he is) die and come back to life. It feels like her head is on backwards. She attempts to listen to her mother pontificate about California, but finally gives up and embraces the mental murk. They’ve settled in an inn for the night in two separate rooms - Miles and Bass in one and her mother, her, and Aaron in the other. The inn has some working lights, but no running water; the infrastructures will take time to rebuild. Charlie hardly remembers what it’s like to watch a toilet swirl away waste or feel the cascade of a shower. It’s not like she misses them.

But it is mainly Miles Charlie ponders. She hates that he’s out of her sight right now – like maybe he’s ceased to be real. In an instant, she cuts off her mother mid-sentence and announces, “I’m going to go stay with Miles and Monroe tonight. Someone needs to keep an eye on Miles, and I’d prefer it not be Monroe. He’s not exactly trustworthy.”

Rachel appears taken aback (and wounded) and stutters, “Well…then it should be me. I’ll –”

“Mom, no. I’m sorry. I just...I need to be with Miles right now.”

Rachel swallows, and Charlie tries to interpret the expression. Her mother looks…scandalized? She doesn’t understand this bit of her mother’s past with Miles – the bit where Rachel seems to believe that Miles could actually hurt Charlie. Charlie trusts Miles above all living people. He’d do anything to keep her safe. It stings that her mother doesn’t believe this of him after everything that’s happened.

Rachel makes a last ditch effort to dissuade Charlie: “Maybe we should all just stay in one room.”

“Mom.” Charlie feels bad about it, but her mother’s forcing her to say it. “I need some space from you right now. You just have so many secrets. I’m grateful you saved Miles, I really am. But _how_? I just don’t…”

“I can explain.”

“But I don’t want to hear it. I’m sorry.” Charlie turns swiftly on her heel and heads for Miles’s and Bass’s room. Her heart flutters with nerves as she braces herself to knock on the door. She’s not sure why. Because Miles is a ghost? Because Monroe is in there? She doesn’t know what to think of Monroe anymore. It was him who held and comforted her when Miles was dying. Not her mother. What the hell is wrong with this picture?

Bass opens the door a crack, wearing just his black boxer briefs. His eyes still look red-rimmed from their earlier sob fest (hers probably do too). Her eyes travel downward to his rippled torso. When Bass registers that it’s Charlie, he opens the door a bit wider and walks away from it, allowing her in. She sees Miles is also shirtless (but he scrambles to re-cloathe himself – not before she observes acres of scars, chest hair, and tattoos). For a moment, Charlie is flustered thinking: _Are they a couple?_

Miles beckons her over and quickly puts to rest this line of thought after reading her face. “Trust me, Charlie, for two straight guys, Bass and I have spent an exorbitant amount of time half-naked sacked out together. Marines.” He shrugs.

“Alarming, isn’t it?” Bass nods, but he’s not engaged. He’s sitting at a small table reading a map they’ve borrowed from the innkeeper. Charlie can’t stop staring at Bass’s muscles. He is, in fact, ridiculously good looking. She doesn’t blame herself for not noticing earlier, since he was busy tormenting her family, but really. It’s striking. She swallows shame and guilt.

“Look. Can I stay with you guys tonight?”

Miles and Bass exchange a glance. Bass shrugs, “Just as long as your little family reunion doesn’t deprive me of the chance to sleep in a real bed.”

Charlie’s eyes travel to said bed. There’s only one, though it is rather large.

Miles offers, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Charlie shivers a little thinking about sleeping so close to Monroe’s sculpted body, but she tries to act tough like a soldier. Like a Marine.

Perhaps Monroe can sense her discomfort, because he reassures her: “I sleep like a corpse. Just be glad you’re not bivouacking with elbows McGee over there.”*

A rap at the door. Miles and Bass lock eyes again like they already know who it is.

Miles answers the door. “What Rachel?”

“Can I talk to you?” Charlie hears her mother say. Charlie tries to shrink out of sight, though she can see her mother crane her face around the door in search of her daughter.

“Fine,” Miles says casually and just as he’s about to slip into the hallway, he pokes his head back around the door and says to Bass and Charlie, “Do not kill each other while I’m gone.”

Bass cracks a half grin and mouths, “Booty call.”

Miles mouths, “Fuck off.”

Charlie giggles.

* * *

_Bass_

“Seriously, are you going to kill me in my sleep, Charlotte? I need to know if I should stow my swords under the pillow. Very uncomfortable but worth it.”

It’s an odd situation they’ve found themselves in. Bass is still in his underwear, lying on top of the sheets, because it’s damn near boiling in here, while Charlie is fully clothed and under two layers of bedding.

“Scouts honor.”

“Aren’t you sweating under there? Holy fu- uh – fart it’s hot.” Bass is confused at himself. He’s not sure why he reigned in the profanity – as if fart were a more genteel choice of words anyway. What is he, an eight year old?

“Monroe?”

“Call me, Bass, Charlie.” Their voices seem disembodied in the darkness.

He hears her swallow. “Ok. Bass. Can I ask you something about Miles?” 

“Sure.”

“He’s been drinking a lot.”

“Not a question, really.” Bass sighs. He’s not sure what she wants from him here. “What do you mean _a lot_? Like shitfaced passed out in a pool of his own vomit every night?” Oops. The swearing again. Seriously, why does Bass even care? This girl has him twisted in knots.

“No,” she answers with a waver in her voice.

“Then that’s not a lot for Miles.”

“Don’t you worry about Miles…I mean, if you _care_ about him so much?”

It sounds like a challenge. Are they having a contest over who loves Miles more? The fragile part of Bass's heart that is still astounded that Miles is alive throbs. But he answers Charlie without hostility.

“Of course, but I’d worry more if he didn’t drink. It’s how Miles copes with the world – his only way, really.” Bass pauses to reflect for a moment, and then it occurs to him to ask, “Charlie, what do you know about Miles's life before the lights went out?”

“Almost nothing. No one ever tells me anything. They’re so secretive.”

Bass shifts his face on the pillow and makes out the outline of Charlie’s pert little profile. Her skin glows alabaster in the moonlight. “Well I’ll tell you whatever you want to know…within reason. Miles is my best friend. I won’t betray him.”

“So…what about him before the Blackout?”

“Miles has been a drinker since he was a teenager. I’m not even sure _he_ realizes this, but my interpretation is he never felt loved by his family. Look, I know Ben is your dad, and I’m sure he was a great father.” Bass is trying to be sensitive here. He attempts to swallow his own biases against Ben. “But Miles and Ben never connected. Their dad was…not a nice person. And their mom passed away when they were boys.”

“Yeah, Miles told me that his mom died. And I’m named for her,” she adds with a touch of pride.

There’s so much more that Bass could say about Ben, but it wouldn’t be fair to Charlie. She doesn’t need to know how bad it was for Miles. There must be some code of honor to protect the dead, especially when the living are so desperately flawed. Charlie deserves someone to hold on to.

But Bass can’t keep himself from adding, “Did you know that after the Blackout, Miles and I looked for you guys for months? Nearly a year. Your parents didn’t seem to want find Miles. It hurt him that they didn’t even try. It…man, Charlie. It really broke him.”

“What about _your_ family? Did you guys go after them, too?”

Bass crosses his arms and squeezes. “Nothing to go after. Family was all killed in a car accident by a drunk driver two years before the lights went out.”

Charlie gasps. “Oh. Wow. I’m so sorry.”

Bass shrugs, as if she can see that in the dark. “I had Miles. _Have_.”

“So…one last question.”

Bass predicts it’s going to be a bad one. And it is.

“How did my mom become your prisoner?”

Bass exhales long and low.

“You said you would talk to me, Bass. Or did you only mean you’d answer the easy questions.”

Bass is impressed with this girl. She’s rather extraordinary.

“Well…it was because of Miles really. He was bitter that your parents never tried to find him, especially after it became easy to find us – you know, leaders of the Monroe Republic and all. Pretty obvious we were in Philadelphia. We knew that Ben had something to do with the power going out, because he’d called to warn us about it just seconds before it happened. We didn’t understand why Ben wouldn’t try to fix it, and we wanted to bring him in to see if we could persuade him to. Once we started looking for Ben, your mother came to us instead. She surrendered herself. She always knew how to play Miles.”

“I don’t understand. Why did she come?”

“Don’t ask me to explain your mother. She’s an enigma I never figured out.”

“But you tortured her. For years.” Charlie’s voice is hard now.

“I didn’t personally hurt her, but I did have others try to extract information from her: yes. Look, Charlie. If we’re going to get into my transgressions, I’d rather just go to sleep.”

“So you just get to be off the hook? It’s _your_ fault Dad’s dead. And Danny.”

“I never wanted Danny, Charlie. Tom Neville fucked that up. And I wouldn’t have harmed Ben. I just wanted him to fix the mess he made.” Bass's patience is spent. “This conversation is over.”

A long silence.

“I should hate you more.” Charlie’s voice trembles. Then, so quietly Bass almost thinks he’s imagined it, she adds, “Why don’t I hate you more?” 

Bass thinks on her words for ages and decides to answer the rhetorical question. “Because you’re like Miles. He was always better at loving than hating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Corycides has penetrated my head canon and forever more I'll believe that Miles is a real bitch to sleep next to. Credit where credit is due.


	11. Chapter 11

_Miles_

Miles follows Rachel silently down the hall to her room, from which she unceremoniously ejects Aaron. Aaron grumbles, taking a pillow out into the hallway and tells them to be sure to put a sock on the door. Miles would say something sarcastic back, but his brain function feels shaky. He hasn’t told anyone this yet, but something isn’t right. Something like one minute having a hole in your head and the next not.

Rachel clicks the door shut and sits on the bed, dropping her face into her hands. Miles fights a tremendous urge to sit beside her and smooth the blonde waves, collecting her into his chest and pressing his lips to her crown. But this game she plays – he never knows what to expect. And he feels ridiculously mentally fragile, like he might shatter if she’s so much as mean to him.

He clears his throat. “What is it Rachel? What’s wrong?”

She appears to fight an inward battle. “I just…I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I? I mean, thanks to you and whatever you shoved into my skull.”

“California’s dangerous for you though, isn’t it?”

Miles arches an eyebrow, a little surprised that she would know this. He wonders how much she and Ben followed his campaigns, while hiding from him in the Monroe Republic.

“Bass and I will work it out. Don’t worry.”

“Miles, why are you standing so far away?”

Miles allows his lips, which have been taut in a straight line to flicker upwards just the slightest. He thinks about what Bass mouthed to him as he was leaving his room a moment ago. So that’s what this is? Miles thinks about the last time they had sex, and his chest convulses. He’s so damn sensitive, he might as well be made out of glass. 

And he still hasn’t moved.

“Afraid of me?” Rachel follows up.

“No…just. I don’t know, I’m not really feeling myself at the moment.”

She inclines her head toward him. “Please.” She pats the bed next to her. Miles complies at last and sits stiffly next to her. She reaches for his chin and pulls him into her mouth. He allows the kiss but retracts when she tries to deepen it. 

“What?” Her blues eyes are milky like the alpine lakes Miles and Bass saw on base in Germany.

“So we’re going to have ‘thank God you’re not dead’ sex now? I just…I’m telling you: I do not feel right.” Miles's voice breaks, and he kind of laughs at his own impending bluntness, “I’m not equipped to handle your mind games.”

“Miles. I love you. And you love me?” 

Miles shakes his head, not because it’s not true, but because as straightforward as that all sounds, it isn’t. He falls back on the bed, his arm shading his eyes. He flinches when she spreads her fingers on his stomach under his shirt. She entangles in the fur there, just the way she likes. Everything they do is so damn familiar, it’s like ripping off scabs. 

“Miles?”

“Yes. Yes, I love you. Of course, I do,” he answers impatiently.

She slips her hand under his pants and lifts up the waistband of his boxers. Miles flops his arm off his eyes and looks down at her from underneath his eyebrows, as she gazes up at him. Want pools in his nethers, and the sudden contact with the most sensitive skin on his body makes him shudder and bite his lip. Her gentleness with him is somewhat reassuring, but his malfunctioning emotions are not. He feels damn weepy and is fighting the choking feeling rising in his throat. Since when does a woman taking his cock in her hand make him sad? Pathetic.

Later when she’s on top of him, he’s glad she can’t see his face, because over her shoulder his eyelashes are damp. He presses her body into him with his hands, willing her skin to meld with his so that she can’t tell this is breaking his heart. Because her love is always a lie. He’s been here before: them exchanging stupid vows, them making love as tenderly as newlyweds. It never means anything – not really.

Rachel is shivering, fluttering around him, and he comes hard, almost simultaneously. It takes him a moment to realize he’s come inside of her, because they’ve fallen into an old rhythm established when birth control was still relevant. He calculates her age and wonders if this is even something they still need to be concerned about.

“Rachel?”

She waves him off, her face buried in his armpit. “Not a very strong chance of that happening at my age. And besides, I just really don’t give a shit. I missed the way it feels when you come in me.”

Miles is about to shift out when she stops him: “No. Stay. Just for a minute.”

Miles closes his eyes, exhaling deeply, and runs his hand along the corn silk of her hair. His hand shakes. 

Rachel places her cheek on his chest and traces a circle around his nipple. “I want to ask you something, Miles.” 

“Go ahead.” Miles is aware of himself softening in her – so now he is maximally vulnerable. And she’s orchestrated it this way. 

“How can you torture someone you love?”

And there it is. He didn’t expect that she’d have forgiven him for keeping her captive, for going after Ben, for tying her up in his tent and wearing her down. He’d never physically harmed her, but he did work her over slowly, completely surrendering to the part of himself that is cruel. The physical torture must have come later – after Miles thought she was dead and abandoned her.

“You really want me to answer that question?” he asks wearily.

“Yes.”

The incongruity of this discussion coupled with their post-coital cuddle is so ludicrous it’s something only Rachel could have dreamed up. Miles is too exhausted to do anything but answer what is in his head.

“Rachel, when you showed up at my camp it was the worst moment of my life. I didn’t want to involve you. Look, I know you think everything Bass and I did – the Monroe Republic, wanting Ben to turn the lights back on – you think it was in pursuit of domination or self-aggrandizement or _evil_ …But you’re wrong. The _world_ was evil. Ben, he made it that way. And he had the power to undo it. I didn’t want to believe that you were just as complicit, so I didn't. We wanted Ben because we wanted to set the world straight again. But we failed, Rachel. We failed, and Bass and I both lost ourselves along the way.”

Rachel appears to ponder this. “If you regretted me showing up in your camp, why didn’t you send me away?”

Miles sighs. “I don’t know – it’s not a simple answer. I wanted you – that’s the selfish part. I know I said I didn’t, but it’s hard for me to breathe when you’re not around. But also, I couldn’t give up on the power just because I had feelings for you.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that you wanted Ben only for altruistic reasons?”

“No. We weren’t planning on abdicating rule if that’s what you mean. We were hoping to bring back civilization, though. It was only after I left that Bass felt so threated he became fixated only on what electricity could do for weapons.”

“Excusing Bass now?”

 “Nope. Just not convinced he’s really so much worse than we are.”

Miles waits for Rachel to shove him aside, slap him, psychologically demolish him, but nothing happens except more words.

“You really thought you were saving the world.” Her voice is quiet, steady, not quite disbelieving.

“We really did.” 

“Well, I suppose I should admire you both then, because all I did after the Blackout was try to hold my family together.”

“Except me.”

“Hm?”

“Except me. You and Ben…you didn’t want me.” Miles’s lips tremble, and he waits for them to steady before shifting Rachel off his body. “I’m gonna go sleep in my room and keep an eye on Charlie. Besides, this isn’t fair to Aaron.” Miles gets up and dresses himself, feeling wrecked, ashamed, the familiar but no less penetrating self-loathing.

Rachel dresses, too, presumably in preparation for Aaron’s return, and Miles pauses just before the door. “Your quest now – California – me, Charlie, Aaron, Bass will see it through to the end. But I just hope…I hope you’ve thought this through. Because I gave up caring about our fucked up lives long ago, Rachel, but Charlie? Don’t ruin her. She’s the only thing any of us ever did right: you, Ben, even me.”

He slips out and gives Aaron’s slumbering, shapeless form a little kick in the hallway to wake him up. “Sock’s off the door, Aaron.”


	12. Chapter 12

_Rachel_

She’s done everything wrong again - driven away her family. Charlie would rather sleep in a room with the two authors of the incorrigibly violent, tyrannical Monroe Republic than share air with her own mother. Miles had buggered off after sex like he’d been cattle-prodded.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d gone after Miles in the first place, except to get him to do what he’s best at: fuck her. He’s the most passionate person Rachel’s ever known (rivaled perhaps only by Charlie, but honestly, how well does she even know her daughter at this point?). When Miles makes love to her, Rachel doesn’t feel anything but the eclipsing force of his passion. In bed, Miles is big and dominating and...tender. 

She’d known Charlie was Miles’s right away – from the first little flutter in utero – but Rachel couldn’t fathom raising a child with a man like Miles. She decided to give Charlie the best gift she could: a father who would teach her to be gentle and compassionate. Miles, who was both of those things at his core, believed those traits to be flaws in himself and raged against them, burying them under layers of cement, whereas Ben – the calculating, detached scientist – cultivated in others what he lacked in himself.

Miles had seemed scared of Rachel tonight, and she supposes they have reasons to be wary of each other. Rachel had the audacity to waltz into Miles’s militia camp eight years ago and dare him to destroy her; Miles had been enough of the snake to coil around her, flicking his poison tongue into her crevices. But he knew after all the mind-fucking that he hadn’t won. It’s no wonder he’s afraid of her still. And he had the gall tonight to say he couldn’t handle _her_ mind games. _Because you lose_ , she thinks.

So she’d gotten him to fuck her (and won again). All the while, she could feel him breaking inside of her, weeping onto her shoulder and hoping she wouldn’t notice. Miles has such a childlike quality about the way he loves. Charlie has the same exact defect (gift?), and Rachel hopes to God her daughter learns to manage it better. Because in a way, it’s infuriating. In another, it’s beautiful.

By the time the sex was done, Rachel had felt centered and spent enough to ask the big question; because if they were ever to move forward, she’d need more than an apology for the torture Miles had inflicted on her. She’d need to know why.

“The _world_ was evil. And Ben, he made it that way. He had the power to undo it. I didn’t want to believe that you were just as complicit as he was. We wanted Ben, because we wanted to set the world straight again.”

So that’s what Miles believes. It’s so perfectly deluded. Such radical self-aggrandizement. And this is where it must be a comfort to be...not stupid, exactly - Miles isn’t that. But he’s no thinker, so he can believe things are that simple.

Rachel can intellectualize about his explanation all she wants, but his words still crawl into her battered heart and settle there. Miles is cruelest when he’s not trying to be.

As, Rachel finishes dressing and Aaron creeps into the room, the familiar trickle of Miles’s seed into her panties prompts stinging tears, because it reminds her of what it was like to carry his child while he was in Iraq. Every moment of every day, her throat was so tight she could scarcely swallow or draw breath. She’d pictured him dead so many times, she'd almost wanted him to die just so she could just get the pain over with. He’s got to be on his ninth life by now.

Rachel had never felt more alone than when the doctor wrenched Charlie out of her loins (though, yes, Ben was present at her side). And she’d never been more awed by the brutal beauty of the world when Charlie was laid in her arms: pink, slimy, shimmering. To Rachel, Charlie and Miles will always be indivisible. Now that they are here together with her at last, she finds it difficult to cope with the joy and the trepidation.

* * *

_Charlie_

In the shallow light of morning, Charlie flings her legs over the side of the bed and her foot unexpectedly meets fur, skin, and muscle.

“Ouch!” objects a voice from below, as Miles rolls out of the way of her feet before he can be crushed beneath them.

She clasps her hands over her mouth in what looks like a parody of surprise but is genuine concern. “Miles, did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” he glowers from the ground.

“When did you get back?”

Bass is now awake and lazily stretches his long legs, as he stands and dresses. “Sure you want to know the details, Charlie? Nothing like picturing your parents together in the sack.”

The word ‘parents’ is like a jab to the solar plexus, but Bass quickly corrects himself - “I mean, your uncle and mother. Sorry. My bad,” he grumbles the last bit. Charlie can’t really blame him. The situation is awkward as hell. For once, it’s not Monroe’s fault.

Miles looks guilty, too, as he rises and yanks on his shirt, stained at the armpits and around the collar.

Charlie decides to forge ahead. “So what did my mom want to talk to you about, Miles?”

Bass again (he’s far chattier than Miles is, Charlie notes): “Like I said, I don’t think _talking_ was the idea.”

“Bass, shut up.” Miles: cantankerous as usual in the morning. 

“Hey, she’s an adult, Miles. She might as well know that Rachel has been preying on your ass for the past 25 years, and every time you come crawling back like a motherless puppy.”

“I said: shut your fucking trap!” Miles bellows at his friend.

Miles can be frightening when he gets like this, but Charlie refuses to let him intimidate. She knows the pattern: anger, bullying, and then, if you are still around to see it, remorse and honesty.

So Charlie takes a chance: “That’s a little pathetic, Miles.”

Miles gazes at her like she’s just whipped him in a swordfight. “I leave you two alone together for a few hours, and now you gang up on me?” 

Charlie grins. Bass flashes him a toothy smile and a middle finger. Charlie has the insane urge to high five Monroe, because apparently together they have power over Miles.

Miles shakes his head. “Scram, Charlie. I need a minute with your new BFF.”

Charlie looks briefly at Bass, who nods at her almost imperceptibly. What, does she need his approval now? Charlie grabs her gear and departs, feeling part giddy, part bewildered.

* * *

_Bass_

“What Miles? I didn’t do anything to her while you were gone, I swear.” Bass is shoving his gear back into his backpack. He doesn’t want to get into it with Miles, and Charlie’s departure (approximately one second ago) appeared to rob the room of its only sunlight.

When he glances up at Miles, though, he doesn’t see fury in the black eyes but intensity.

“I know. I’d kill you. This isn’t about that. Spar with me,” Miles insists.

“The hell?” Bass is confused. He is, in fact, just about to click his sword belt in place, but instead leans his weight forward on the scabbards.

“Come on, Bass. Spar with me.”

“No, _you_ come on. Are you cracked?”

Miles licks his lips nervously. “My arms feel like overcooked noodles.”

Either Bass is going crazy, or Miles's eyes are suddenly misty. Miles sort of snatches at Bass’s swords, and Bass maneuvers out of the way - “Eh” - he makes a sound of protest. “Miles, what has gotten into you?”

“Does getting shot in the head make you a sentimental fool with spaghetti arms? Because that’s what’s gotten into me. Clearly.”

“Ok, Jesus. Don’t cry!” Bass is really fucking alarmed. He’s seen Miles get teary like once, maybe twice in their entire adult lives. Bass, of course, has blubbered like a baby at every possible juncture. But what is going on here is beyond Bass. He cautiously approaches his friend and clamps his hand on Miles’s shoulder.

Miles glares at the hand. Bass pouts a little, because what right does Miles have to reject his attempt at comfort? Dickwad. Yeah, Miles deserves to hear that.

“ _Dickwad_.”

Miles shrugs. “Don’t want your pity. Just want you to spar with me, so I know how bad this is. We’re in fucking California, and Affleck’ll hand us our asses if he gets the chance.”

“Fine. You are an impossible ass.”

Bass takes out his swords and puts up his guard. Miles comes at him with a rather arrogant (and stupidly off-balance) thrust. Either he thinks Bass has forgotten how to swordfight, or his hand-eye coordination is really off.

The metal flashes, and just as Bass knocks the sword out of Miles’s left hand, twisting the right behind Miles's back and placing his own blades at the vulnerable throat, Aaron walks in and shrieks like a woman.

Rachel and Charlie are behind him and also cry out in protest.

“Relax! We’re just practicing,” Bass explains and releases Miles. Miles looks irked and red in the cheeks.

As the group begins to head out, Miles pulls Bass aside by the arm and growls, “I told you it’s bad.”

“Well man,” Bass gives him a sympathetic pat on the back, “You did die a little back there. I mean, I was worried as hell about you – we all were. You’ve all I’ve got left in this world.” 

“Kind of a lot to lay on someone, Bass.” Gruff Miles. Bass rolls his eyes. Miles adds, “But I’m worried about Affleck. Maybe we shouldn’t go in to see him - lay low while Rachel does her thing.”

“You know as well as I that we have to go in. Rachel, Charlie, and Aaron? They need protection.” Bass thinks, _And there’s the remote chance that my son is Affleck's aide. You know, my bastard son with your former fiancée._ “Don’t worry, Miles. I’ve got your back. I always have.”


	13. Chapter 13

_Aaron_

The group plods downstairs to where the innkeeper has promised them breakfast. She’s a craggy-faced hippie with a thick rope of gray braid down her back and two full tattoo sleeves of sunbursts, moons, peace signs, and various allusions to Battlestar Galactica that probably only Aaron catches. She’s fiddling with a radio when they appear in the dining room, and she gestures at the toast, eggs, and bacon she has laid out, but they all stand transfixed by the crackling of mass-human communication restored.

Her gnarled fingers settle the dial on a voice so familiar to them (except probably Charlie) it almost takes their breath away. The president of the United States. He sounds distinctly older but unmistakable.

“Americans. This is your commander in chief. I’m calling all United States armed forces to reassemble in their units in Los Angeles, California. We are establishing the temporary capital there away from the nuclear disaster that has affected the East Coast. Repeat. All armed forces are ordered to report to Los Angeles, or they will be court-martialed as deserters. All past offenses will be forgiven – no questions asked.”

It takes Aaron several minutes to process this information. He notices Miles and Bass exchange a look that to him is ambiguous. Miles’s legs wobble slightly, and he sinks into a chair. Charlie and Rachel are doing the same thing as Aaron – scrutinizing the faces of the two Marines in their midst and wondering what the hell is going to happen next.

“You guys aren’t thinking of going to LA…?” Aaron finally asks in an unsteady voice.

Because if their only protection flees South, their collective goose is cooked. Neither of the Marines look at Aaron to answer. Bass has his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on the bad, paisley wallpaper, and Miles is staring at the mound of bacon like it’s a freaking unicorn. Aaron ponders what the president has offered them: absolution, perfect and complete. A tabula rasa. In fact, how can they resist?

Rachel walks over to Miles. “Miles. Look at me.” He shifts unfocused eyes toward Rachel’s chin but doesn't draw them up any higher. “You can’t go to LA. We have to see Governor Affleck. Don’t you understand? The president was involved in the Blackout. Hell, it seems like he might have ordered the nuclear annihilation of the East Coast. _Your Republic_. You’ve said it yourself: There are no good guys. We have to find out what Affleck knows and proceed from there on our own.”

Miles has gone into some inaccessible, internal place. Or maybe he’s having an aneurism related to getting his head shot up. God knows. Aaron gets the fleeting impression that being a Marine is like being a robot. Though Miles has been shut off for so many years, the switch has been flipped; the mother ship is calling him home. But then Bass speaks to Miles like no one else is in the room. Charlie watches Bass’s lips like she’s under a spell.

Bass places a light hand on Miles’s neck. “She’s right, Miles. We can’t go back to serving the United States. It’s not the president’s forgiveness we need anyway, right?”

Miles doesn’t move; he doesn’t speak. But after a long moment, he reaches for a plate and heaps bacon and eggs on it. He begins shoveling the food down as if he’s going for first place in a pie-eating competition. Aaron thinks about how his mother used to say to him at the dinner table: 'Slow down and chew your food! You eat like a Marine.' So this is what that looks like. Aaron has only been used to Miles on the move, picking at whiskey, charred rabbit, and berries.

With his mouth embarrassingly full, Miles chides, “The hell are you all doing standin' around? Eat. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

Bass promptly obeys, apportioning an enormous helping and wolfing it down. Aaron gets nervous there will be none left for him, so he digs in as well.

Charlie takes the seat next to Monroe, a half-grin creeping into place. “So does anyone have any ideas for how we’re going to get in to see Governor Affleck?”

Rachel shrugs. “Across the Bay Bridge and through the front door of San Francisco City Hall.”

Bass and Miles eye each other in some silent communication that Aaron wishes he could discern. There’re like twins, these two, with their own private language. It’s rather unnerving, considering what they managed to accomplish together in the past. They once built an empire – albeit, an evil empire – but Jesus Christ, all Aaron did after the blackout was abandon his wife and suction cup his fortunes to Ben's.

* * *

_Miles_

_Fuck._ His wrists are splitting at their handcuffed seams; his arms feel dislocated from his shoulders like popped pen caps. He’s dangling by chains from the ceiling in some kind of tiled, repurposed bathroom thing. His brain is still sloshing around in his skull and that must be why he’s in this mess, though he can’t adequately remember. He decides to play a friendly little game with his pathetic, atrophied brain to prompt it toward usefulness – something akin to Memory, a board game that he and Bass once used to entertain the girls (Angie and Cynthia) when they’d babysit. You deal a bunch of face-down cards (theirs featured Sesame Street characters), and you get to turn over two – if they match (say, Cookie Monster and Cookie Monster) you get to keep them. If they don’t – tough shit, sucker; try again. Miles often lost. To a fucking three and five year-old. So he doesn’t know why he thinks this’ll help him now.

Miles tries turning over the Rachel, Charlie, and Aaron cards. They, indeed, went through the front door of City Hall to meet Affleck. Bass and Miles, however, sneaked in the backdoor, so to speak, after killing a few guards and stuffing them in a cloakroom. He and Bass weren’t the friendliest houseguests, to be sure, but they needed to make a clandestine entrance – lay low until they were needed. How Miles’d gotten himself fucking captured was beyond him and frankly, out of character. The fact that Bass isn’t here means Bass wasn’t dumb enough to get caught.

Damn hole in the head. Miles now fights like a drunken five-year-old girl with a wobbly She-Ra sword. He rattles his chains in frustration, a sad-sack Jacob Marley, and almost laughs aloud. Well, all he can do now is hope his deranged best friend will come and rescue his sorry ass.

Anytime now, Bass. Anytime.

* * *

_Charlie_

Governor Affleck was only willing to see Rachel, and so Charlie and Aaron sit in a room that feels uncomfortably like a prison cell. The door is locked. They’re not tied up, but the guards have disarmed them. Bass and Miles have made their own separate entrance, and now Charlie waits to see how long it will take them to figure out that she and Aaron need saving. In fact, she finds she’s surprisingly titillated by the idea of Bass swinging in through the window and repelling her down to safety. She snorts, alarming Aaron. Well, maybe she’s just bored. They must have been in here for four or five hours so far. She drums her fingers.

Aaron says, “I could use some more bacon.”

* * *

_Bass_

Bass is nervous about splitting up with (the aberrantly dopey) Miles, but he also doesn’t want Miles around to spoil the moment of Bass first clamping eyes on his son...on the off chance that this actually happens. So he’s convinced Miles to hang back and watch their rear. It's unsettling that Miles has proven himself completely useless so far. Bass has had to single-handedly kill everyone who’s threatened them since they entered City Hall. It’s probably safest if Miles just hides, but of course, convincing Miles of that is like convincing the Pope to give up his red shoes. Most likely, once Bass has ascertained whether or not his son is here, he’ll probably have to go and rescue Miles. Hopefully Miles can keep himself alive long enough for that.

When Bass slays a few more guards to get a visual on the black and white marbled hall in which the familiar blonde mane of Rachel and balding head of Affleck are bowed together, he doesn’t see any curly-topped aide. He sees, instead, Affleck reach in and close his worm-like fingers around Rachel’s neck. She crumples like a deflated balloon. Bass is torn between wanting to save Rachel and wanting to watch her die, he’s suddenly so angry at her lie. He’s quite amazed at himself. He didn’t realize until this moment exactly how much hope he had harbored that his son would be waiting for him in California. He was a fool under Rachel's spell.

* * *

_Rachel_

Being that Affleck knows quite well Rachel’s role in the power outage, Affleck doesn’t believe that she’s here to help. And is she really here to help? Who does one even help anymore besides oneself? No, she’s just here for information. She’s used Miles, used Bass…that part feels pretty good actually – Bass is probably wandering around looking for his son right now. As if it makes any sense that his mystery lovechild would be in California, particularly under Affleck’s thumb. But humans have a marvelous capacity to believe in the unbelievable if it brings them hope. And she’s so glad Bass is here, because it’s him she wants to turn over to Affleck to die. She’s not ready to give up Miles.

But now as Affleck’s fingers close around her throat, just as her windpipe threatens to collapse, they are interrupted by one of Affleck’s minions. Rachel falls from his grasp to the floor, just barely getting her good hand down in time to protect her head from cracking on the marble.

“Sir, we have Miles Matheson in custody.”

Damn. Dammit all to hell. She knew Miles wasn’t functioning well enough to defend himself. She should have convinced him to remain outside the city across the Bay. She _had_ tried – taken him aside and told him to wait it out. To protect their exit route. They had argued briefly behind a tree before the Bay Bridge, and then, without warning, he’d entangled his fingers into her wavy hair, pulling her face close enough to smell his hot, bacony breath.

“Rachel, I don’t take orders from you. And I sure as hell won’t let you and Charlie go into San Francisco without me.”

When she’d grunted in frustration, he’d forced her lips into his, the colliding passion instantly making her innards sweat, if that were a thing. She could have fucked him right there if it hadn’t been for the fact that the rest of their companions were not ten feet away, anxiously plotting their four and a half mile trek across the bridge. Hell, she could feel Miles’s desire for her wafting off him like steam. Two humans could not be more physically bound to one another than they. And yet the rest of their essences – their emotions, their intellect – are always just off: cosine and sine graphs laid on top of one another, meeting only at the most trivial points.

From the cold, stone floor, Rachel shakes off this line of thought and decides she must make due with the situation at hand. Miles is in custody; Bass is not. She’s got to win Affleck over.

“Of course, you have Matheson,” Rachel rasps. “I brought him here for you.”

Affleck snorts. “Oh yeah? You brought your brother-in-law here for _me_? If that’s the case, then why didn’t you actually _give_ him to me?”

Rachel thinks quickly. “Because he wouldn’t have come, of course. But you can keep him. Consider it a peace offering. A sign of my good will.”

Affleck puts his boney hands on his hips. Rachel notices that he’s missing an index finger and thumb. “Well, Matheson is useless to me now, except for the pleasure I’ll take in executing him. The Monroe Republic is a moot point, since it’s just nuclear ash. But you, Rachel, I can’t believe my good fortune in you showing up here. Surely, you’ll come in handy as a bargaining chip with the president. You’re the last living scientist we know of involved in Operation Dark Night.”

Fuck, Rachel thinks. This plan has gone to hell.

“Take her to Matheson’s cell,” Affleck orders and swiftly departs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys…I have a lot of Rachel-Miles feels this morning. I pre-apologize for the fluff – it’s like I massacred an entire army of stuffed animals. I don’t think y’all understand how hard I ship Miles with everything these days. Hiatus = fraying my sanity.
> 
> Also I'm estimating that this story will end in a few chapters - two to three. I move in a week and a half, and I'd like to wrap it up before then. I've set the chapter counter on the low end for now.

_Rachel_

Rachel feels like a leaky flour-sack, as she's flung into a white-tiled room and catches sight of a very haggard Miles suspended from the ceiling. The guards unlock his chains, and he sinks heavily to the floor. They fling some stale rolls and water at the prisoners and depart.

“Miles!” Rachel’s head is spinning from the violence of her entry. She hefts onto her knees.

Miles gingerly rubs the cracked skin of his wrists and crawls over to her, encircling her with his arms.

“Hey. You ok? Your wrist?” He adds guiltily.

She nods. “I’m ok. At least…I know Affleck will keep me alive. But he’s got Charlie and Aaron locked up God knows where, and you…” her voice hitches, and her guilt boils to the surface. “You don’t understand, Miles. This is all my fault. I knew what Affleck would do to you and Bass if I brought you here, but I did it anyway to get an in with him.”

Rachel shudders and heaves in his arms. She, a smashed clock, gears and shattered glass all exposed to a skill-less jeweler. To her astonishment, instead of pulling away in horror at her admission, Miles simply shifts so that his back is against the wall and gathers her deeply into his arms so that she can rest against his chest, tucked under his chin.

“Rachel. Come on. You can’t blame yourself for this. Bass and I knew exactly what would happen if we came to Affleck’s lair with you.”

Rachel’s lips quiver. “No. You’re not listening. I planned this. I wanted to hand over Bass to get Affleck on my side…maybe even you. I don’t know.”

Miles smoothes the side of her head with rough but caring fingers. “Well, you have plenty of reasons to use Bass and me as bargaining chips. And you know very well that we can take care of ourselves.”

“How sick does a person have to be to hand over the man she loves to his death?”

Miles exhales in a little laugh and kisses her hair. “Babe,” (he hasn’t called her that since the affair, and her stomach lurches) “you just saved me from certain death not a day ago. I’ve been in worse binds than this. You’re not _sick_. Maybe a little damaged, but that’s my fault more than anyone else’s.” He almost whispers the last part.

Rachel closes her eyes and leans into him. Like a cat, Miles soothingly rubs his stubbly cheek against her hair. A few tears leak out of her eyes, because this feels so comfortable, so good, and yet they’re imprisoned, awaiting Miles’s execution. It astounds her how life always manages to one-up itself in its injustices.

“Rach, if we live through this…can we at least try?”

She swallows. “Try what?”

He shrugs a little as he expounds, “Try to be nice to each other? Maybe see what it’s like to actually _be_ together?”

“That’s what you want?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rachel. How can you ask me that? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I would have given anything for you – _anything_ – if you’d have just chosen me.”

“But I did come to you…eight years ago.”

She feels his body convulse, as he sighs, “I knew you didn’t come for me. You came because you believed it would protect Ben. The kids. S’why I said what I said. That I didn’t care anymore. That we weren’t family.”

That he remembers what he said with such clarity confirms for Rachel that Miles relives that day with as much frequency as she does.

“Oh, Miles. That’s…I don’t know what to say to that. Except: I forgive you, ok? I forgive you…I guess. Because we’re both such complete fuck ups – there’s really nothing else to do with us. And I want you. I want to _try_ with you. But I worry about Charlie. She’s so distant from me, so cold. I don’t know if she could bear us being together. It might be too much to ask of her.”

“Charlie’s tough and very forgiving. She’ll come around.”

A guard enters armed and with extensive shackles. “Miles Matheson. The governor will see you now.”

Rachel chokes. It’s too soon to say goodbye.

* * *

_Bass_

Bass knows he needs to let go of the fantasy that his son was ever here. That on the other side of the rainbow is some clover field where he and Miles are best friends just like before, his son is waiting to welcome him as the prodigal father, and maybe a young, blonde thing wants to run her fingers through his curls…He stops himself on that last part. Dangerous. Miles would never forgive him. And what’s more important: winning his way back into Miles’s affections or getting into the pants of a woman over twenty years his junior? Still his mind dwells for an inordinately long spell on the image of Charlie undoing his fly and running her long, graceful fingers over the seam of his boxershorts.

He swallows.

Then the explosions begin. Bass rolls under a bench to take cover, his brain trying to process why Affleck’s new capital is under attack. Not the Monroe Republic – Tom Neville couldn’t give a damn about California when he must still be licking his wounds from the nuclear catastrophe. Foster’s dead. Texas has got to be tied up figuring out what to do now that the lights are back on. No, this must be the return of the United States – it’s capital set in Los Angeles not 380 miles away.

Maybe it’s because she was the last thing on his mind before all hell broke loose, but all Bass can think is: Charlie. He’s got to find her, get her out alive. It’s crazy, and he doesn’t have time to sort it all out now, but somehow she is to him both someone whose hand he wants in his pants and someone who appears to represent his lost son. He shakes off this conflicted absurdity and begins a wild search for her.

* * *

_Miles_

Miles stands before the familiar, ugly face of Affleck.

“Governor,” Miles greets as jauntily as possible, considering they’ve shackled his neck, hands, and feet. Affleck knows how dangerous Miles is, and Miles is a little proud they’ve bound him so thoroughly. Little do they know how clumsy he's become.

“General Matheson. It’s so rare that one is allowed vengeance in this bitter world, and I’ll take such pleasure in exacting my pound of flesh from you.”

Miles bows a little. “Well. Give it your best shot.”

Affleck snorts. “Tut, tut. Pride is a deadly sin.”

“Oh, I’m sure Hell has a big shiny thrown awaiting me.”

“A shame really, since we’ll eventually end up there together, and I’ve never liked you. Perhaps they have a special, sequestered chamber for former CIA?”

Miles lifts an eyebrow. So, Affleck was CIA. Unsurprising. He's a real weasel.

Miles decides to try something. “I’m curious, then, since you are about to kill me anyway. The Blackout: do you know why?”

“I’m surprised that a low-life Marine of your piddling intellect troubles himself about such things. But I'll humor you. Sure I know why. _You_ know why. Everyone knows why.”

“Don’t follow.”

“Of course not," Afflecks smiles in disgust. "We - the human race - were hastening ourselves toward perfect annihilation. If someone hadn’t pulled the plug, there would have been nothing left. Earth was boiling from a hundred years of careless consumption; China and North Korea were co-plotting our nuclear destruction; it was all coming to a head. The US government saved humanity from itself. It was a kindness.”

“And now? Why not take the president up on his pardon and go to LA, a faithful servant like Randall was?”

Affleck laughs and cringes a bit at the reminder of Randall. “Because, Miles. I was never on board with the United States coming back. It will all happen again. The slate was never truly wiped clean. Look at the country you and Monroe built. Look at mine. We’re all tyrants, every last one of us. Selfish, greedy warmongers bent on world domination.”

Miles feels his muscles slacken in their bonds. “That’s never what I wanted.” 

“It’s not what any of us wanted. It’s simply what we became. I, creator. You, creator. Frankensteins with our monsters.”

A rush of emotion swirls to a sharp point in Miles’s stomach. He realizes: he’s ready to die. Something in what Affleck said has healed a wound deep within him, or at the very least, prepared him for the end.

And then the explosions.


	15. Chapter 15

_Charlie_

What’s real; what’s not real? Jason is lying beside her still as death, Monroe at her other side, breathing into her ear. His breath is stale and hot. Monroe’s tongue emerges from between his lips with mesmerizing slowness. The tip is forked.

Charlie rolls over and coughs, her lungs filling with dust. Neither of the men with a strange hold over her are actually here – it’s only Aaron, blundering on all fours through rubble to extract her legs, smoldering under debris. Aaron’s become a real warrior somewhere along the way, because look at him: blood streaming down his face from a frightening head wound, but Charlie's wellbeing is his first priority.

“Charlie!” a voice she doesn’t recognize. It should be Miles’s, but it’s not. It’s _his_ , she realizes, shame inexplicably inhabiting her chest.

Bass is helping her to her feet: “Can you stand?”

She can, amazingly. The air hurts her legs, but she can stand and walk. This is more than can be said for Aaron, who has not yet made it upright.

As Charlie is trying to get behind Aaron and help him up, she blathers, “Where’s Miles? My mom?” It comes out as a near accusation, like Bass should have damn well known to rescue them before her.

Bass shakes his head, his face white. It’s then she realizes that he’s hurt too – a big gash at his temple. He’s holding his side, skin peeled away like a flap. “We’ve got to get out of this mess before anything else collapses.”

“No. Not without my family.” Charlie hears how stupid this sounds, because they can’t see anything in all of this smoke and stone.

Bass points at Aaron’s head. “He looks like he’s about to fade.”

On cue, Aaron swoons, and Bass begins to drag him out of the rubble. Charlie follows reluctantly. Bass wraps Aaron’s head with dexterous fingers, keeping it in line with the spine and then looks up at Charlie.

“Are you ok?” Bass asks, rising and placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” she barks, feeling childish. Bass staggers a little, and she feels swift guilt. She realizes at this point that she’s more scared of herself and her own train-wreck of emotions than scared of Bass. He’s gone from being the most dangerous man in the world to little more than a kitten.

Aircraft barrel overhead and more explosions follow.

“We’ve got to get out of the city. Now! We’ll head back to the East Bay where we can take some cover. Affleck’s got to be the target, so this won’t stop until San Francisco is leveled.”

Charlie squints at Bass. “But Miles. Mom.”

“Charlie, listen. Your friend Aaron is not _my_ priority. But on the off-chance that he’s yours, you should know I’ve seen this kind of head wound before, and if we don’t get him help, he’ll die. If Miles and Rachel are alive, they’ll do what we’re doing and get out of the city before the bridges come down.”

Charlie stares at Aaron, who has lapsed into unconsciousness.

“Go ahead and make your choice. I’ll follow you.” Bass is looking at her with intensity. For the second time in her life (since departing her village to seek out Danny), she is being asked to make decisions for people twice her age. Instead of feeling intimidated, she is empowered.

“You’re right. Miles and Rachel can take care of themselves. We’ll get Aaron help, and then we’ll look for them.”

Bass nods. “Now help me find something with wheels, or we’re never getting his fat ass back across the bridge.”

* * *

_Rachel_

Rachel feels around in the rubble trying to get her bearings. She’s a mess of cuts and bruises, but otherwise apparently intact. The others who recently inhabited City Hall are also crawling about, shouting for survivors, but the good news is no one seems to care about her anymore. They are all in survival mode. Eventually she hears her name being called by a comfortingly familiar voice, and she blunders toward it.

Miles helps her to her feet, and his arms feel remarkably strong again.

“Charlie?” Rachel asks as if underwater. Her eardrums may have ruptured.

Miles shakes his head. “Can’t find any of them. But if they’re smart they’ll get out of the city as fast as possible.”

“No, Miles. We can’t leave. Not yet.”

“Rachel, we have to trust that if Charlie’s alive, she’s heading toward the mainland.”

Now Rachel shakes her head. “Not because of Charlie. Because of Affleck.”

Miles is chalky white with dust but doesn’t appear to be seriously injured. He puts his hands on his hips and looks off into the distance. “Rachel, you are the stubbornest son of a bitch I’ve ever met, and I know I can’t tell you anything, but will you at least hear me out?”

She briefly glares at him but mainly searches the ruins with her eyes for Affleck.

Miles demands, “Look at me, so I know you’re hearing this!”

Irritation blooms in Rachel, because she hates when he treats her like a recalcitrant soldier, but she looks nonetheless.

Miles’s voice is almost tremulous with emotion. “I followed you here so that you could find out…God knows what. Honestly, I don’t even care. I came for you and Charlie. But what does _any_ information matter anymore? The United States is back. The evidence is all around you. It’s inevitable. Maybe Affleck could have put up resistance but not for long.” Miles points at her: “What do you think we’re going to do? Become vigilantes, rebels? We’re gonna resist the United States? I mean, to do that properly we might as well hop a boat to Europe or Asia.”

Miles puts his hands back on his hips in resignation. “Whatever you thought Affleck was going to tell you, it doesn’t matter now. We have one thing left, and that’s our family. Let’s find our family and keep them safe.”

“ _Our_ family...you including Bass in that?”

Miles shrugs, unwilling to answer.

Rachel wants to rage at Miles, but she controls the waver in her voice. “Miles, don’t you see: that’s exactly what I was doing before. ‘Just keeping my family safe.’ And look where it got me! Look where it got everyone!”

“Ok. And I went the other way, trying to save the world when I couldn’t get to my family. And I turned out to be one hell of a mass murderer. Was that good for everyone? Shit, Rachel. Have we learned anything from each other?” He approaches her to lock eyes. “You’re not going to be able to save the world, Rachel. I’m speaking from experience. But Charlie...I dunno. She could do a hell of a lot of good if we help her. She’s like that. Maybe Aaron is too. He seems pretty damn honorable to me. You, Bass, and I – if we can just hold ourselves in check and not destroy more than we build, then we’ll be doing our own service.”

Rachel has held his stony gaze but finally blinks. “God, you really save up your words for one big dump, don’t you?” She covers her forehead with her hand, trying to decide what to do.

“And did I convince you?”

“I…I don’t know if I can let go of making right what I’ve wronged.”

“Rachel, Affleck helped me realize something...I can’t explain it, really. I just think I’m right here.”

“You always think you’re right.”

“I’m willing to admit where I’ve been wrong.”

Rachel’s lips tremble. “How do I live with what I’ve done?”

“We live through it together.”

* * *

_Aaron_

Woozily, Aaron lolls his head, watching the world shape-shift. He vomits once or twice. By the time he can actually open his eyes again, squinting against painful light, he realizes he’s in the inn – the old hippie with the long braid peering into his face.

Did he dream San Francisco?

“Shh. Don’t move your head. Your friends left you here to recover. They say they’ll be back.”

Aaron’s heart drops. Then he’s alone here. The part of him that still believes he’s the acned, obese teenager worries that no one will actually come back for him. He closes his eyes and weeps behind his eyelids.

* * *

_Bass_

Bass walks behind Charlie, trying not to fixate too much upon the youthful buttocks rounding under her sword belt. His eyes travel down to her wounded legs.

“We should find water to wash your burns. They might get infected.”

“They’re fine.”

“Charlie, you’re a very determined woman. But that’s not enough. Water. There.” Bass points at a brook. He notices how Charlie appears to jump at the word ‘woman,’ like she hasn’t been called that before. He reminds himself that she’s in her early twenties, and the lust he’s feeling is not completely creepy. Just mildly so.

“Take off your pants,” he suggests, merriness creeping into his voice despite the circumstances.

She glares at him but appears to recognize the value of the suggestion and strips from the waste down until she is standing in her tank top and graying underwear, ragged, lanky legs streaming down for miles. Bass tries to politely avert his eyes but finds he needs to redirect his energy elsewhere.

He walks over to the brook and takes off his own shirt, washing his face, armpits, and side wound. He hears the splash of Charlie in the water next to him. Inconveniently, his body begins diverting blood to his nethers, and he thinks, _Damn, I’m in trouble_.

He’s really in trouble when Charlie walks up to him on the cold stones and announces, “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me, Monroe. I just…somehow…I want you. I hate myself like you wouldn’t believe, but…I think you want me too?”

When she asks the question, Bass feels a little lurch in his dick (ok, a big one - one that might have even been visible, goddammit). He asks himself if he’s imagining this, because it seems impossible that Charlie would be so forward. But she’s Rachel’s and Miles’s spawn. So anything's possible.

* * *

_Miles_

Miles and Rachel have made it safely across the bridge and head for the hills and the sanctuary of trees. Miles has his doubts that they’ll be able to find the others in this chaos. People are streaming from their houses and heading toward higher ground. Darkness is enveloping Berkeley, making their chances even slimmer.

“We should find somewhere to take cover. Look for them at first light,” he suggests.

Rachel looks wearily at him and nods. He feels bad for her that she’s had to give up on her personal quest for redemption, but he tells himself that they have hitched their redemption wagons together. And that counts for something – _more_ maybe. To his surprise, he feels Rachel entangle her fingers in his from behind. They’re holding hands.

He’s suddenly overwhelmed by the impression that this is all he’s ever wanted in life: to hold Rachel Matheson’s fucking hand. He laughs aloud at the absurd revelation.

“What?” he hears Rachel ask from behind, uncertainty in her voice.

“I…I don’t know. You’re holding my fucking hand!” He exclaims, as if this articulates the intense coil of feelings in his chest.

He glances back and sees hurt in the milky blue eyes.

“No, Rach. I meant…” God, he’s an ass – horrible at love. What makes him think he can actually do this? “I meant I like it,” he says (hopefully) in time. He squeezes her fingers. She doesn't let go, so that is something.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well faithful readers, this feels right. 16 chapters it is! Thank you so much for all of the support, the lovely reviews, the kudos. Each little encouragement has provided me with a world of snuggles. I hope you enjoy the fluffy end. The narrative perspectives team up a bit for the finale, but Aaron gets the last look. Because he's kind of the ultimate narrator in a way; is he not?
> 
> *passes out popcorn and bonbons*

_Charlie and Bass_

This isn’t where she thought she’d find herself: teteering on slimy rocks, clad only in her underwear and tank top, admitting to simmering lust for Sebastian Monroe. The situation reminds her of what her father joked about when she didn’t come home all those nights she was out “hunting,” but really just exploring – sometimes village boys’ bodies, other times retrieving whatever strange relics the earth would cough up from an electric past. Ben had said, “The twenties are far worse than the teenage years for experimentation and false claims to invincibility. Just make sure you use your common sense and stay safe.”

If Dad could see her now…maybe he wouldn’t be surprised. He had this quality of ironic detachment laced with caring and lack of judgment. She loved that about him.

Charlie stares down Monroe, a small corner of her worried that he’ll make a fool of her. He’s proven himself capable of exquisite cruelty in the past. She doesn’t know where this side of him has scampered off to, but it could come back now at the worst of times. Only, she doesn’t feel particularly vulnerable right now. She feels inexplicably powerful.

Bass reaches out with one finger and slides it down the smooth curve of her arm, providing pleasant chills. Her nipples harden. But Bass turns his face to the side and laughs. A sudden pang in her stomach is replaced almost immediately by the impression that he’s laughing more at himself than her. His hand drops back to his side.

“Charlotte Matheson. You really are something. I want you, too, obviously. But I’m old enough to realize that lust is fleeting and friendship is forever. So for your sake and for Miles’s…I’m going to say _no_ to what I want. You’ll regret it if we…I know you will. And Miles won’t be able to manage this. He’s so protective of you. There’s going to come a time when I have to tell him how I betrayed him when we were your age, and I don’t want to add fresh garbage to the pile of treachery I lay at his feet.”

“What do you mean you betrayed him when you were my age?”

Bass says, “How about you finish washing up your legs?”

Charlie gives Bass her best _I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other_ scowl.

Bass reads her accurately and assures, “Don’t worry I’m going to tell you.”

Charlie sets to washing her stinging legs. After awhile, the frigid water numbs them, and she's able to tolerate the pain.

Bass lazes on the bank of the brook after putting his shirt back on. “Miles was engaged to that girl, Emma. The one who died in our hometown a few months back.”

“The one you killed.”

“The one that stupid asshole Georgian killed.” Fire ignites in Bass’s chest. Emma still occupies a special, battered part of his heart.

“Is that how you sleep at night?” Charlie asks a little viciously. She does want Bass to feel remorse for his actions…perhaps a little regret for making the wise choice of blowing her off just now.

“Look, just before Emma died, she told me that I have a son I didn’t know about. She and I had sex right before Miles and I went to basic training...she was still engaged to him.”

“Some best friend you are. He doesn’t know?”  
  
“He doesn’t know.”

“Are you sure that Emma…well, I mean you had a gun to her head. Are you sure she was telling you the truth?”

Bass swallows. He’s been so sure all this time. But suddenly Charlie’s words produce an avalanche of doubt. He shrugs.

“I mean, that would be a pretty shrewd bluff,” Charlie finishes, replacing her clothes and plopping down next to Bass. “My guess is she played you, Bass. You can be a bit…gullible. You're a bit of a lonely and lost in the woods type.” She cracks a half smile.

Bass laughs out loud a little manically (because she’s righter than she knows – his mind ticks to Jeremy – a pang of guilt – and then he forces the thought away). Bass flops down on his back. “You’re astute, Charlie. You have Miles’s bravado laced with Rachel’s brains. It’s a formidable combo.”

She shrugs. “And now you’ll never know what it is like to lay that.” She collapses next to him and shoots him another grin.

Bass almost giggles. He likes Charlie way more than he ever thought he would. “Definitely my loss. But I think…the right choice? I’m trying to make those these days.” Bass pauses ponderously. “How am I doing?” He wants her approval, he realizes.

Charlie’s eyes relax as she gazes at the fading light between the trees. “Well, you haven’t killed anyone I care about in the past few weeks. So I’d say you’re on the up and up.”

She doesn’t look at Bass, but she senses him smiling. He is, indeed: very broadly. Beaming, actually.

“Bass…I might not tell Miles about the Emma thing. He’s really sensitive about her. Maybe just let him have those memories.”

Bass vacates his lungs in a protracted exhale. “Welcome advice. Because I’d really like to keep Miles now that I have him back. If we find him, that is…”

“Speaking of, let’s go get my…parents. Or whatever the hell they are.”

Bass picks up on the doubt in her tone. “Miles is happy just being your uncle, Charlie. The biology thing doesn’t change the way he feels about you. See…I live in a world where family are the people we choose. Miles will always be my brother. Ben…he chose you to be his daughter. There’s something more powerful in that than sperm and egg.”

“You think Dad knew about me…?”

“I think there’s a strong chance. He was obnoxiously smart, Charlie. Tell you the truth, Miles and I never really liked him.” Bass snorts.

“Hey!”

“We admired him, though.” This is true in many ways. Bass still doesn’t want Charlie to know about the anguish between Ben and Miles. It’s not her cross to bear.

A warmth settles in Charlie’s stomach as she rises, offering Bass a hand and pulling him to stand.

* * *

_Rachel and Miles_

Miles has found them an old shed to sleep in. He leaves Rachel with one of his swords and mumbles something about finding dinner. Rachel thinks about when she and Aaron trekked across The Plains Nation and nearly died because they couldn’t extract food. She’s grateful to be with Miles. He wasn’t the right choice for her when the world was functioning at its normal clip, but he’s a damn useful companion in this current morass. She sinks back against the wall and drifts into half slumber, because she feels relatively safe for once. But she’s never safe from her own troubled mind.

_Strausser’s greasy fingers migrate up her naked thigh and into her. Her first thought rather than being violated is just how filthy they are – how unsanitary this is. The blade of Strausser’s knife is against her throat so that it’s difficult to even swallow without pricking her jugular. After fingering her, Strausser takes out his ugly, gnarled dick and flicks it in her face, commanding her to suck on it. She spits at him, and he moves his knife down to her folds. “I’ll cut your clit off, so you’ll never be able to feel pleasure again, you stupid little bitch.” She ponders whether this threat is really as bad as sucking off a monster and finally complies._

“Rachel! Wake up,” Miles is giving her a firm shake, the rough skin of his hands abrasive on her bare arms.

Tears have streamed down her face, and she rouses in confusion.

“You were screaming. Are you ok?” Miles looks very carefully into her eyes like she might be mentally unbalanced. She's embarrassed, ashamed. She sucked Strausser’s dick. She can remember the fetid taste of his come. The memory is so violently real, she lolls her head to the side to wretch.

Miles does not think she’s crazy; he’s just worried as hell about her. He’s seen soldiers wake from nightmares like this – has had them himself – and knows how hard it can be to come down from them. He sees her head roll to the side and senses what’s about to happen. He cups his hands under her mouth and allows her to vomit the meager contents of her stomach into his hands. It's not much.

“Miles, I’m sorry!” she whimpers.

Miles holds the warm vomit in place and says, “It’s ok. It’s ok. Can clean my hands. Can’t clean the ground where we’ll sleep all night.”

He gets up briskly and is gone for maybe ten minutes. Rachel tries to occupy her brain with thoughts of anything but Strausser. First comes Danny. Sharp, excruciating heart pain like electric shocks. Then comes Charlie. Lost, maybe dead. Nothing is a pleasant substitute.

Miles is back. “I’m sorry. It took me awhile to find water. But good news is we have some to drink.” He kneels in front of her and brings the canteen to her lips, watching her drink. “You feeling any better?”

“Yes. Thanks,” she says stiffly.

“What was your dream?”

She tries to wave him off.

“I’d um…I’d like to know. You don’t have to bear everything alone. I’m here for you.” Miles isn’t sure if this is the right thing to say. Hell, he doesn’t like to admit what he dreams about. But he feels like he should at least give Rachel the option to open up.

Rachel feels stronger until she looks into Miles’s earnest brown eyes. Then she buries her face in her hands and sobs without producing tears. Miles encircles and holds her, soothing her with his voice. “Shhh.”

“Strausser,” she finally gets out. She heaves a few times and finally gets it under control.

Miles shakes his head. “Strausser getting at you is my fault. I can’t…” His voice drops into his throat.

“Miles, what that sick psycho did to me is not your fault. That happened after you left. Please, I don’t want to connect you with any of that.”

Miles nods and swallows. He understands. If they are to make a present and future together, she’s got to draw lines in the sand. He changes the subject to survival – always a good break from the mental labyrinth. “You want some food? I found us some berries, wild mint, and sorrel. Any of that appeal?”

“I’ll try it,” she says, because he looks so eager to help her.

After they’ve eaten, Miles secures the door of the shed and lays out their bedrolls side by side. He strips down to his underwear to air out his clothes, and Rachel does the same. After lying in the dark for a spell, she hears his breathing even out.

She feels bad disturbing him, but she has the sudden urge to live this night like it’s their last. She rolls onto the cool skin of her companion, pressing her pelvis into the softness of him. Miles wakes and looks temporarily disoriented. His dick responds before he manages to croak:

“Rachel.”

“Make love to me.”

Miles is caught between slumber and wakefulness, but his body tacitly accepts her proposal. He runs his fingers down her spine to unhook her bra, allowing her breasts to tumble onto his chest. They both gasp at the skin on skin. Miles is already hard enough that by the time Rachel gets both of their underwear off, his dick slips inside her with little guidance. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sensation of being in her, convinced this is his favorite place in the world.

When Rachel is full with Miles, she is less empty. This sounds like a tautology, but it has some deep metaphysical meaning to her. They come together, which for Rachel seems confirmation of this inexplicable truth. She collapses against Miles’s neck and feels wet on her forehead. It takes ages for her to realizes that they’re tears and not hers.

“Miles. What?”

He sniffs and shakes his head. It’s not that he wants to hide things from her, but this thing would hurt her. He’s thinking about Nora. His body wants to grieve her at this inconvenient moment. He’s scarcely allowed himself the chance to mourn, and bodies will strong arm their ways into addressing their needs if you don’t give them proper opportunities. It’s not that he wishes Rachel were Nora. He doesn’t. He just misses his friend.

Miles knows he has to say something, but he doesn’t want to make an excuse. Instead he tries, “Just…sad.” It feels right.

Rachel accepts. She wipes his tears with gentle fingertips and says, “Understandable. It’s ok.”

* * *

 

_Aaron_

Aaron’s aware of being moved. Bumped, prodded, shaken. He moans and begs whoever it is to stop. Then one morning, out of the blue, he feels much, much better. The thudding, all-consuming pain in his head has passed. He wakes in a bed and smells salty air. He hears the rhythmic crashing of waves. He drinks from a glass of water someone has set beside him and rises stiffly from the bed. It’s then he makes the realization: he’s blind in one eye.

It cuts him to the quick, but in the same moment he is comforted by his surroundings. Someone has indeed been caring intensely for him. He sees a clean chamber pot set next to him. The remnants of liquid food in a bowl. He emerges from the windowless room and walks through a modest little house out the front door onto a glorious beach - the sand warming between his toes. He’s in California, he remembers. The ocean is glittering greenish-blue and enormous waves curl into frothy arcs. He’s seen this place before: Half Moon Bay. The sculpted cliffs, the scraggly wildflowers. But how did he get there?

Charlie is running toward him, her blond hair streaming like a mermaid, who has found her proper home.

“Aaron’s up! Aaron!” She looks like she wants to fling herself at him but thinks the better of it just in time.

She cradles him loosely like a fragile sculpture. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, besides the fact that I’ll have to take up a new career as a pirate to justify the eye, I’m feeling pretty good.”

She shoots him an adorable pout.

“Where are the others?” he asks.

Charlie turns away to point at two bent figures in the distance: shirtless Miles and Bass, looking very tan. They’re stringing line into the water. They could be in an Edward Hopper painting – serene, synchronized, simple.

“Bass and Miles are fishing. Mom is…oh, here she comes.”

Rachel’s wavy hair is dancing in the wind. She comes up and hugs Aaron too, smelling of saline and sun.

“So you didn’t desert me after all, Rachel?” Aaron quips. He's referencing their journey through The Plains, and her insistance that she would have left him had their tables been turned.

“No, Aaron. I learned a thing or two about loyalty from you.” She half-smirks in that wise, Rachel-specific way.

Aaron attempts to make sense of their ocean-side retreat. “What are we doing here? What’s next on our journey?”

Rachel’s smile deepens, though she looks weary. “Our journey has come to an end. We’re here to wait and see.”

Charlie adds, “We’re here to enjoy the ocean. I’ve never seen it before. Not that I can remember anyway. It’s the most amazing thing!"

“But you and Miles…” Aaron addresses Rachel. “You’re ok with just waiting and seeing?” he asks incredulously.

“Miles and I have decided that the Mathesons don’t need to be at the center of every major drama to unfold this century. Obscurity has a nice ring to it.”

“Really? You’ve never been comfortable with the obscure before. Always had to figure everything out. It's the restless scientist in you.”

The conversation has gotten too esoteric for Charlie, who runs off toward the shoreline, dipping a toe into the icy expanse and squealing.

Rachel shrugs, her eyes moving from the joyous Charlie to Miles and Bass, who appear to be pushing each other and laughing. “Everything I need to know is right here.”


End file.
